The Death of Truth
by Librarianbot
Summary: Found the bomb, saved the world. Now on to a nice, quiet life on the wrong side of the gate. Except, of course, nothing's ever quite that simple... Set after The Conqueror of Shambala. Spoilers for the series as a whole. Anime universe. Ed, thus language.
1. Prologue: Quest's End

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Prologue: Quest's End**

The complex of warehouses and loading yards was used to noise. The shouts of workers and foremen, the rumble of trucks and cranes and the thump of crates and boxes in motion were all frequent enough to be virtually engrained in the weathered brickwork.

At three fifteen in the morning, however, uproar was a more unusual quantity.

The cause of the unexpected nocturnal racket breathed a string of choice curses as he legged it along the narrow gap between two of the longer buildings, trying to go as fast as possible whilst stopping the sack slung over his shoulder from bouncing too much. For half a second, he wondered how the night watchmen passed their time when they weren't chasing innocent burglars and whether they would thank him for bringing a little excitement and exercise into an otherwise dreadfully dull job. The far more sensible part of his brain promptly kicked that idea out of the way and reminded him that he would not be particularly thankful for what they'd do to him if they caught up.

Careering around a corner, he chanced a backwards glance. Three bright, wildly swaying lanterns and a mass of bulky, angry looking shapes. Not a time to slow down then. Now where the hell was that…  
"Oof! Ow!"  
The fence proved to be about as yielding as a cliff-face. It was pretty much as un-scalable too, much to the satisfaction of the four guards who skidded to a halt moments later to find their black-clothed prey backed into a corner.

"Well, well, well," growled the largest, swaggering neatly into cliché territory, "What do we have here? One little trapped rat."  
Said rat squared his shoulders and levelled a fierce glare.  
"Who are you calling so small a kitten could eat him?!"  
The laughter was nasty. The thief's subsequent grin was nastier.  
"Last laugh's mine, guys!"  
With an exaggerated flourish, he stretched out his arms and clapped once, loudly.

A small quantity of air was displaced.

Other than that, nothing happened. The large cliché looked around.  
"What was that? A round of applause for catching you?"  
The thief stopped grinning and started blanching.  
"Um…"  
Not precisely on cue, a gangling figure dropped from the eves and used a quarterstaff to turn the assembled thugs into impromptu human skittles.

There followed several frenzied moments as the guards struggled to regain the advantage in the face of six feet of solid oak and a target who suddenly turned out to have an improbably powerful right hook.  
"You were supposed to jump them when I clapped," the thief hissed when the last of the men stopped moving, "Not leave me looking like a complete moron!"  
"Sorry about that, brother," his rescuer apologised meekly, "I slipped halfway up the drainpipe…"  
"Ah, forget it. Guess it was a stupid thing to do anyway. Come on." He gingerly picked up the sack. "Our ride's waiting."  
Side by side, they raced straight back up the alley.

Half a minute later, they were darting between ranks of brooding, silent lorries. The quarterstaff wielder signalled silently and swarmed up into the cab of a large flatbed. His companion carefully passed him the precious sack before starting to climb himself.  
"Hoy! Halt!"  
The shout ripped across the yard at parade-ground volume. He turned and saw more torches and more bulky shapes pounding towards them.  
"Oh, f –"  
With a harsh cough, the truck came to life. Another yell, indignant enough to be audible above the bone-rattling machinery, demanding they stop or be shot. He reacted with the instincts of someone who has spent a large part of their life ignoring requests made by people with guns, swinging past the cab and onto the truck's cargo deck. The almost feral grin returned when he saw what was stacked there.

Flinching as a warning round ricocheted off something close to his head, he hunched down and fumbled at his right wrist. Finding the catch, he twisted. There was a sharp _sprang_ sound and a slender blade burst through the glove. It made short work of the ropes he could reach and then it was simply a case of throwing all his strength against the cargo…

In a cascade of copper pipes, a trail of semi-concussed guards and a cloud of gate fragments, the lorry exploded into the night.


	2. Chapter 1: Day Jobs

_Disclaimer: The Fullmetal Alchemist characters don't belong to me._**  
**

**Chapter 1: Day Jobs**

"I could be wrong, but isn't there something in the Regs about standing to attention and saluting a superior officer when he comes into a room?"  
After a leaden pause, Lieutenant Breda deigned to grant the visitor a response.  
"That'd be next to the bit about majors not wandering around headquarters with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths."

Havoc harrumphed and looked around the office, regarding its blue-garbed occupants with a puzzled frown. Not one of them had turned away from their desks when he had come in. He would have expected that in the old days, when his presence was hardly a novelty, but now when he rarely got back to Central more than once a month…  
"Hey what's…"  
And then he realised two things. First, you could have cut the atmosphere with a bayonet. Second, everyone was diligently focusing on work despite the fact that a certain blonde sharpshooter was nowhere in sight.

"Geez. Who's funeral have I missed?"  
Breda shot him an unusually sour glare but it was Fuery who answered.  
"If you're here to see the Brigadier General, you might want to come back tomorrow."  
"'Fraid it can't wait that long."  
The tangle-haired officer strode for the door at the far end, hand raised to knock. Three strangled gasps and the scrape of Fuery's chair stopped him in his tracks. The master sergeant's eyes bulged behind his glasses.  
"N-no, you c-can't!"  
"Why not? The Brig's an old comrade and I'm not gonna be about for long."  
"Because," Falman answered in loud whisper, "Brigadier General Mustang has received a sudden influx of important work and is not to be disturbed for anything less than the end of the world."

Havoc nearly bit through his fag.

"What the hell did he _do_?" he asked eventually, half-afraid of the answer.  
"He asked Hawkeye on a date when they'd clocked off last night," said Breda in tones reserved for descriptions of horrific crimes.  
"Um…" Confused, Havoc frowned again. "Is that all?"  
"No. Then she clocked him one."  
"Huh?! Actually _hit_ him? _Hit_ him?"  
"Yep. Gave him a nosebleed. And we only know that because Sheska saw them and me and the medical officer met in a bar last night. I got in early today –"  
"For once," muttered Falman.  
"_And_ there she was, grabbing any bit of paper with his name on it and piling them in his tray. Gave me a look that could have burnt through steel when I asked what was going on. Mustang dragged himself in – on time if you can believe that – and she caught him before he knew what was happening. Hasn't let him out since."

"But…_why_?" was all the major could say.  
The other three men looked at each other before speaking simultaneously.  
"Balloons."  
"Eh?"  
"The idiot asked her to come to that balloon festival the Independent Alchemists are holding at the weekend."  
"And she… Are you telling me she _still_ hasn't forgiven him for that? It's been nearly two years!"

There was another round of looks.  
"I…err…" Fuery coughed. "I don't think it's that she hasn't forgiven him…"  
Fresh realisation dawned and Havoc buried his face in his hands  
"Don't tell me. He still hasn't said sorry, has he?"

* * *

Head propped up with one hand, pen gripped in the other, the Flame Alchemist signed what felt like the zillionth sheet of official parchment of the day and cast a hopeful eye in the direction of the other desk. Smooth black met piercing cinnabar. His subordinate stood, covering the distance between them with precise steps. He opened his mouth to speak, to break the dreadful silence that had hung between them for the past six hours… 

She deposited another unfeasibly large heap of papers in his in-tray and swept herself and the contents of the out-tray back to her seat. He bit down on a gurgle of disappointment and resigned himself to being snowed under for the foreseeable eternity.

The main problem was that he did not want to upset her any more. It would have been easy to lapse back into the normal routine of slacking off, reading the paper, doodling and basically living up to his reputation of being the Military's worst procrastinator when it came to things that weren't matters of life and death. It would have been very easy indeed to put off real work until the dread click of a surreptitiously tugged safety catch indicated that he was sailing a little bit too close to becoming a target dummy. It would have been the simplest thing in the world to ignore the fact that he had made a complete fool of himself and been whacked for his troubles, just as he had done every other time he had half-jokingly tried to act on his feelings towards Riza Hawkeye.

But this was not like those other times. He had dug that little bit too deep and the water main of fate had hit him on the nose.

They had never discussed that bizarre day – it seemed a century, a millennia ago now – when the earth had broken open and the living dead has filled the streets and skies of Central, when a one-eyed private had marched back from the north and taken command of an army, when a blonde teenager with a metal arm had proved his indestructibility once more, when…when Roy Mustang, famed hero, alchemic genius and arrogant jerk, had stopped the woman who would have followed him beyond the gates of hell from doing just that.

He had done it for the best of reasons. He had already doomed his military carrier and was probably about to die horribly, he thought he might as well go out protecting the people he cared about, to wit a certain vertically challenged bad penny, a city full of innocent people and the best shot in the country. The first two, they needed him in the ramshackle aircraft, floating up into the blue yonder to combat the winged monstrosities bombarding everything below. The third…_he_ needed _her_ back on the ground, safe, surrounded by the best soldiers in Amestris. In that moment, secure in his suicidal arrogance, he had thought he was being noble.

It was only later, when the world stopped spinning and he was left clutching a medal, the papers of a re-commissioned Brigadier General, the keys to a new set of offices and orders to lead the reconstruction effort that it came to him what he had done. And how much she must hate him for it.

Still, when he had her and the rest of his old command assigned under him, nothing seemed to have changed. She still enforced ruthless efficiency with a sniper's skills (including the unnerving ability to walk without making any sound whatsoever), still covered his blunders, still prodded him awake when his nap overran, still chastised him for abusing the telephone…they could have been back at East Command, before Homunculi, Lab 5, Lior and high treason had changed everything. He was insanely grateful that the higher ups had cottoned onto the need to keep Mustang and the only cattle prod that had an effect on him in the same room and hadn't questioned why a newly promoted Major was still acting as his aide. To try and show how grateful, to her more than them, he laid off the girls – not that his libido had ever quite recovered from the shear terror that had gripped him mid-way through his fight with Bradley – and done his best to play nice with the paperwork. No more spontaneous cranes or 'accidental' bonfires.

He'd been good and had thought that that was good enough. She had even smiled at him, smiled often. And then he'd asked her out. And something raw and angry had burst through the mask of normality and applied a set of knuckles to his face.

Auto-mail couldn't have hurt more.

So here they were, him wanting desperately to say something that would make up for every slight he had ever inflicted on her and her walling him up behind pulped trees.

Damn.

Anger at himself gave him courage and he flung the pen down, springing to his feet, striding to stare out of the window. The pointed cough nearly had him shuddering. But something reckless kept him there.  
"I've been sitting down too long, Hawkeye. If I don't stretch my legs, I'll get cramp."  
Somehow, keeping his eyes fixed on the manicured lawns outside made the rebellion easier. Now, maybe if he was really quiet and concentrated on tracing the straight lines that were the pride and joy of the military gardeners, he could make himself invisible enough that he might not have to scrawl his signature on anything for –

"Hawkeye, come here." He knew without turning that her worst glare was burning into the spot between his shoulder blades. "Seriously, come here. I need to check I'm not hallucinating."  
Her chair slid back and she was suddenly at his side.  
"Sir?"  
"Tell me: is there or is there not someone standing in the middle of that lawn wearing a white cloak?"  
Hawkeye's eyebrows rose.  
"There is, sir."  
"Oh, that's good. I thought for a moment my other eye was giving up. Now what the _hell_ are they doing there?"

The apparition was tall and thin, features entirely hidden within the folds of a long, hooded cloak. Nevertheless, it gave the impression of looking up and, more precisely, of looking straight at the man and the woman in the third floor window.  
"A civilian?" Hawkeye suggested, "Perhaps a representative of the Independent Alchemists? They do tend to have…elaborate dress senses."  
"Hm." Mustang's eyes narrowed and he reached for the latch. "I'm going to find out."

Flinging the window wide open, he leant out and shouted surprisingly loudly.  
"Hey! You!"  
Several non-coms and a second lieutenant jumped, clearly thinking, as anyone does when someone shouts 'hey, you', that they were the ones being addressed. The cloaked figure did not move.  
"You in the hood! What are you doing here?"  
If there was any lingering fear in Mustang's mind that he might be being rude to a perfectly innocent visitor, it was dispelled when whomever-it-was turned slowly around and started walking away.  
"Oy!" He was fairly certain he hadn't had to bellow 'oy' at someone for years but the situation seemed to call for it. "Oy! Stop!"  
The words had no effect.

Scowling, he extended one gloved hand, ready to snap a spark into existence and send a blast of flame into the stranger's path.  
"Sir."  
The note of warning in Hawkeye's voice dragged his attention sideways.  
"The gardeners, sir."  
He winced, remembering what had happened the last time one of his fires had left a smoking hole in the perfect turf.  
"Yes, but –"  
"I'll ring the guardhouse, sir."

She spun on her heel. Grudgingly, he withdrew his hand and watched sullenly as the cloak was lost in the crowds. His scowl deepened. No one had bothered trying to stop the man – if it was a man – despite the fact that they must all have heard his shouts.  
"Sir?" Hawkeye held the phone away from her ear. "They say no one of that description has been reported entering or leaving the base."  
"Have them check again. No, have them actively search."  
"Sir."  
Paranoia, possibly, but in his experience, the unusual was always something to be worried about.

He remained at the window for another minute, until Hawkeye started tapping her pen against a blotter, the signal that his reprieve was up. The ice remained unbroken. A mysterious intruder had done nothing to get him off the hook. Terrific. The resigned feeling overcame him once more and he sat down, reaching for the next form. Things returned to tense, pen scratching filled silence.

It was broken twice before the end of the day, once when the guardhouse rang up to say that they had found no sign of any white cloaked interloper and once when Mustang opened a docket and found a disclosure request concerning a research paper authored by the Fullmetal Alchemist.

The sigh he gave as he stamped it denied was strangely heartfelt.

* * *

In another world, under another sky and on a dusty road, Edward Elric released his hair from its woollen prison with more than a little relief. The dark cap had become unbearably uncomfortable. He stretched luxuriously; glad to be free of both that and the cramped confines of the appropriated lorry. The latter now sat in a ditch a couple of miles back, being too obvious to keep with them. With luck, they'd be able to find fresh transport soon but he wouldn't mind too much if they had to walk. 

After all, the sun was coming up on a cloudless day, his brother, his flesh-and-blood, complete-with-memories brother, was at his side and they had just cleaned up the unfinished business that had been gnawing away at them for the past year and a half. Life was good.

He put the sack down and hauled himself onto a fence, digging in a pocket for something to fasten his golden mane back so that the wind wouldn't blow it into his eyes all the time. Al leant against his staff, grinning. _Grinning_. Even after so long together like this, Ed still found himself offering silent thanks every time he saw his brother smiling. No more impassive metal mask, no more having to rely solely on a tinny voice for emotion…

"What?" the taller boy asked.  
"Hmm?"  
"You're staring at me, brother."  
Ed chuckled.  
"Just thinking about something Noah said before we left. About there being a few of her friends who'd be very angry if I didn't bring you back in one piece."  
It took a moment but the crimson flush that crept up towards his ears made Ed go from chuckling to laughing so hard he nearly fell over backwards.

When he regained his composure, Al's expression had become serious.  
"What are we going to do with it?"  
There was no need to ask what 'it' was.  
"What we were always going to do. Dismantle it. Destroy it. Though I guess they saved us a bit of trouble there, huh?"

It had taken a great deal of time and effort to track down the remnants of the Thule Society after its leadership had fallen apart as a result of the 'Shambala' failure. They had started during the days spent painstakingly removing every trace of the 'sorcery' that had propelled Eckhart's forces into Amestris, thereby banishing the ghostly portal once and for all. From there, they had criss-crossed the continent, chasing rumours, living with the Roma and doing anything they could to earn their keep. At some point, though neither could remember when, Al had learnt how to wield his current weapon with considerable skill. It was, Ed supposed, a good thing to have found something to replace alchemy in a fight but he still hadn't quite lost his nervousness around a spinning length of wood taller than he was.

Eventually, they caught up with a consumption-ridden professor in a decaying Parisian mansion and he told them everything. Huskisson's bomb, along with most of the Society's other projects, had been placed in storage and abandoned. The most powerful weapon on the planet had been half-dismantled and locked away because no one who knew what it was had the money or resources to do anything with it.

The anticlimax was painfully ironic. And now the football-sized metal sphere lay in bits in the sack at their feet. They had done it.

"Maybe we could burry it. Or drop it in a lake. Yeah…put it in some lead box and just let it sink. No one would ever find it again."  
"That's a good idea." Al rubbed the staff between his hands, drilling a dent in the dust. "But we'll still have to get it _to_ a lake. Are you sure you're OK carrying it…?"  
"Course I am!" Ed flexed his auto-mail, now divested of its torn glove. "This hasn't broken down yet, you know." Hair secure, he rolled up his sleeve and examined the metal arm.

The addition of the spring-blade had marred the sleek lines considerably. True, he had had the sense to get a copy of the forearm plate made before he tried his had at welding things onto it but still…Winry would kill him if she saw what he'd –  
"Don't."  
Al's voice was soft but it stopped him from thinking too far in that direction. As always. He threw him a grateful look and hopped down.

"Come on. We'd better get moving if we're gonna make the border anytime this month."  
Hefting the sack, he stepped back onto the road.  
"I wonder if anyone will come after us…"  
"Eh?" He shook his head. "Doubt it. We didn't leave a trail and who else really knows how important this thing is?"  
"Hmm…guess so…"

They set off northwards, the rhythmic thump of feet and staff the only sounds outside of birdsong.  
"Hey Al? Know what the best thing about all this is?"  
"What?"  
"We don't have go report to Mustang now we're done!"

* * *

He found the hubbub of the city curiously comforting. The country-dwellers of his acquaintance often complained that it drowned out the pleasanter noises. To him, though, it was the sound of life, of peaceful, prosperous, _good_ life. True, it was sometimes over loud and tinged with harshness but it was never the hateful, vile dissonance of the battlefield or the cold, icy hush of the graveyard. When he heard it, he remembered that there was still vigour and happiness somewhere in the world. And while he had never been a poetic man, that made him feel better about his existence. 

And after a day's worth of near silence, Mustang needed that more than ever.

Would he be able to handle another day, another week, another month of a vindictively distant Hawkeye? He wasn't sure. He doubted it. He doubted even more that his wrist would be able to take the strain. Which meant he had to fix things between them and fast. But what could he possibly say or do after so comprehensively shooting himself in the foot…

He stopped. He turned. He stared.

The stranger in the white cloak was standing in the mouth of an alleyway not ten yards away, hidden eyes trained on the homeward-bound alchemist. Passers-by did not spare a glance, apparently ignorant of the spectre in their midst. Just like at Headquarters. As if only Mustang could see it clearly. Except, hadn't Hawkeye as well? And she certainly hadn't been in the mood to be humouring a delusional superior.

People often accused him of being reckless. Presumably, they hoped that he would listen and change his ways as a result. They'd clearly missed the part of the definition that dealt with recklessness and willingness to listen to advice.

He sprinted across the street, barely avoiding being run over, and plunged into the alley. The stranger was already racing away, cloak billowing.  
"Oh no you don't!"  
Like a champion bowler, his arm described a perfect throwing arc, fingers clicking at the apex. Fire forked over the fugitive's head, igniting a towering wall of burning air. Over the buzz of alchemic exertion, Mustang smirked triumphantly. His stalker was trapped, cringing back from the cage of flames, throwing up arms for protection in the face of unbelievable heat.

Advancing, he rubbed his gloves menacingly.  
"Now…"  
The other whirled.

Mustang had half a second to take in the jet-black hand and the vivid golden lights blazing from the shadows inside the hood. Then the ground ripped open, metal serpents writhing and hissing up from below. Metal serpents made from water mains.

The world exploded into cold, soaking pain.


	3. Chapter 2: Parallels

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 2: Parallels**

Having a major city's water supply blasted into your guts is not a pleasant experience. It is even less pleasant when accompanied by the sickening thought that you have just lost any possibility of fighting back even if you wanted to do anything but curl up in a corner and whimper.

Roy Mustang decided, as he lay on his back across drenched flagstones, that it was high time he started carrying around some sort of waterproof backup plan. At the very least, that might put an end to the 'useless in the rain' jibes that a lot of people still found unnecessarily hilarious.

Not that he was likely to survive that long but it was nice to fantasise.

The hooded man – for the sake of the more chauvinistic parts of his pride, he hoped it was a man – glided closer, flanked by the animated plumbing. With the crystal clarity of the imminently condemned, Mustang noted the complete absence of any obvious transmutation circles. The guy hadn't clapped his hands either. For that matter, the skill required to manipulate so many pipes at once like that without direct contact bordered on the impossible.

Right. As impossible as a twelve year old becoming a State Alchemist or the Führer turning out to be an inhuman monster. He really should start broadening his horizons a little. Groaning, he squinted up at white blur. Fullmetal'd be in stitches over this. The almighty Flame going out with a drowned squeak…

"Stay down, sir!"  
Gunpowder thunderclaps boomed along the alley. Superheated lumps of lead bounced off municipal engineering. The blur vanished. There was a fresh _wumph-wooosh_ of ballistic water. Someone gave a sharp yell. Then things went quiet.

Maybe if I just lie here, he thought, it'll all go away – water, bruises, wrecked street, the distant ragged wings of approaching paperwork – and I'll wake up in a nice warm bed.  
"Sir?"  
A very familiar face appeared over him, straw-coloured hair dripping and disordered.  
"Hawkeye…?" he mumbled, "You're all wet."  
"Yes sir. So are you sir. How many fingers?"  
"Bwah?"  
"How many fingers am I holding up?"  
"Don't you know?" Her eyes narrowed. "Sorry. Two. And one thumb."  
"Good."

She helped him stand, one of her guns still at the ready. The alley was even more mangled than he'd expected.  
"Ooh…wouldn't like to have to clear this up…"  
"If I wasn't worried about you being concussed, I'd make you do it right now."  
"Hey! You think I did this to _myself_? Where'd he go?"  
"I didn't see."  
Steadying himself against a wall, he took in her appearance. She was drenched head to foot but still looked capable of fending off an invasion single-handedly. He looked down at himself and stamped a foot. It squelched.  
"Hawkeye, we appear to be soaked."  
"You said, sir."  
"Does anyone know what's happening?"  
"I told Falman I'd be keeping an eye on you but other than that, no."  
"Then we need to get somewhere to dry off that has a phone. My flat's closest. Damn." His gloves were sopping. "Useless. I don't suppose you…?"  
She held up another pair and squeezed. Muddy liquid splatter on the ground.  
"Huh. Well, major. My life is in your hands. Again."

* * *

Alphonse gulped down the last of his milk, much to his brother's obvious disgust. Doing his best to ignore the expressive grimacing, the younger Elric addressed the farmer at whose table they were sitting.  
"Thank you very much for all this."  
"Yeah," Ed added, "It's real kind of you to take us in for the night."  
"Not at all," the man replied, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, "The least I could do after you helped me with the cart." 

His wife smiled at Al as she set a dish of stewed apples in front of him.  
"He's lucky you came along. Last time he ran it off the road, it took him half a day to drag it back."  
"We're glad we could help. Mmm! This is delicious!"  
Apparently, there was a lot to be said for the kindness of strangers. Once the farmer – Jacque – had satisfied himself that they weren't bandits or murderers, he had been overwhelmingly grateful for two extra pairs of hands to help him get his horse and what was left of his cart back home. He'd even offered to take them to the nearest town with a station, though they'd beaten him down into letting them assist with putting up his market stall – and repairing the cart for him.

"Did they teach you how to fix farm equipment at university?"  
Jacque had greeted the revelation that Ed had studied in Munich with the assertion that they spoke pretty good French for a pair of German boys. They had silently agreed not to correct him.  
"Nah," Ed answered genially, "Just something we picked up. You could say we've been learning how to fix things all our lives."  
"A good use for any life! Now, since you don't approve of my herd's produce, how about something with a little more taste?" The man sprang from the table and reached for a decanter on the mantelpiece. "A measure for you as well, Master Alphonse?"  
"Oh, no, thank you. I, err…"  
Jacque's wife caught his eye.  
"Not a drinker?"  
"Not really…"  
Memories of spending four o'clock in the morning doubled over and heaving his guts out sprang to mind with unpleasant clarity.

Settling back to play the part of spectator, he remembered what Ed had said about Noah's friends. That train of thought rolled onto Scar – no, _Ivan_! He never made the mistake when he was face to face with the brown eyed, whole-faced duplicate of the Ishbalan warrior but it was sometimes difficult to keep things straight when he wasn't.

Ivan had seen him after a particularly rough night and given one of his rare barks of laughter.  
"I really don't understand why so many of the girls make doe eyes at you."  
Al's head had still felt unglued at that point and he'd responded with mute incomprehension.  
"Your brother's got the muscles and the looks to have a hoard of them after him if he wanted. He doesn't, true enough, but that's not the point. But you? You're _pretty_, Alphonse Elric, a pretty, thin, clueless kid who can't stomach his drink and doesn't notice woman even when they're hanging on his coat tails."  
Hearing having finally connected with brain, the 'clueless kid' had gaped in shock.  
"Wha…_what_?"  
The Roma had laughed again.  
"See? Not a clue. Take my advice: start seeing what's around you. Love for your brother is all well and good but it's not the be all and end all. The sooner you realise that, the sooner you might be able to broaden your experience of the finer things in life. Especially when they offer themselves up on a platter. Heh. I suppose that height advantage of yours really must give you the edge…"

Of course, a second later Ed's boot hit him on the ear and Al hadn't considered the incident since. Now though, he mulled it over curiously. As well as returning his memories, crossing the Gate had given him back four years' worth of growth in a series of frighteningly abrupt spurts, leaving him to tower over Ed once more. He supposed he was as in shape as anyone his age could be. But that the combination could be attractive to anyone…that had honestly never occurred to him. Why should it have? He had been ten twice over. His experience of 'the finer things in life' was limited to say the least. There had only ever been Winry and she was a big sister, not a…well, just that really.

Someone lightly touched his shoulder.  
"You have the look of a man thinking deep thoughts," Jacque's wife told him, "I wouldn't disturb you but I need that spoon back."  
Blushing profusely, he stood up.  
"Oh, yes, sorry! I'll help!"  
She thanked him and led the way to the kitchen.  
"Do you mind scrubbing those pans?"  
"Not at all! You've been very kind to us, Mrs –"  
"Madeline."  
"Huh?"  
"My name. I think I'm still young enough not to be offended by you using it."  
"Oh, right. Well, you've been very kind to us, Madeline."  
"Jacque has never seen why those who can should not help others in need. It's one of the many reasons I married him."  
"Brother's the same. Always trying to 'be thou of the people'."  
"Family motto?"  
"No, not exactly. It's more…like a guide for people in authority. To use their powers for the good of everyone. I suppose you can apply it to anyone, really."

Madeline pulled her auburn hair back into a ponytail and started drying plates.  
"Sounds like a good philosophy. With Jacque…it was the War that made him the way he is. He fought and when he came back…he never talks about what he saw but…it haunts him dreadfully. Now he can't bear to hurt or hate anyone…"  
Al stared out at the darkness beyond the window.  
"I understand. There was a time when… Brother almost did something truly terrible once. To save my life he would have…he nearly…something terrible. He still has nightmares about it, he just can't forget. There are other things as well, things no one should have had to go through. I'm lucky in a way. He was always there to protect me, to shield me from some of the worst things imaginable. But he…he's scared of himself, I think. Terrified of what he's capable of. Somewhere inside him…he thinks he's a monster. And he's always trying to prove that he isn't, even though it's only him who needs that proof…"

He trailed off, embarrassment at pouring his heart out to an almost perfect stranger leaving him tongue-tied.  
"I…err…I've never told anyone about that…sorry, I'm…"  
"No." She smiled sadly. "I understand too. You just want to make everything better, don't you? You want to reach inside them and fix whatever's broken. But you can't. They won't let you because they insist on protecting you from it."  
He turned and properly looked at petite woman. She couldn't be more than thirty; an energetic, self-reliant person who'd lived in the open air all her life. She reminded him of Winry and Lieutenant Ross, people who cared deeply but couldn't always show how much.  
"Yes," he said at last, "That's it exactly."

* * *

In the end, he had to half carry Ed to their temporary bedroom. His genius brother always ended up drinking far more than he should, even if he could handle it far better than the Al ever would. His head lolled against the other's shoulder and he mumbled incoherently about elements and calculations. The taller boy's apologies were waved aside and the goodnights were warm. 

As the pair staggered out of sight, Jacque clasped his wife's hand.  
"A strange one, that."  
"His brother as well. They're both far older than they should be."  
The farmer rubbed his chin.  
"It's more than that. I'm not talking about that mechanical arm, either. It's their eyes. Gold and bronze and always looking into the distance…"  
Madeline stroked his hair.  
"They are a long way from home and they are resigned to never going back."  
"Edward said something about completing a mission while we were talking. I got the impression he's at a loss what to do next."  
"Then I hope they find something. Because I don't think they'll ever be happy with quiet lives."

* * *

Grimacing, Mustang peeled off the sodden eye-patch and applied a towel to the mass of scar tissue that covered the left side of his face. It never hurt to touch nowadays but the sensation was still unpleasant. 

They were standing around the heater he'd alchemised from the kitchen table and his stove, gently steaming and waiting for someone to turn up to keep watch while they changed. Hawkeye was not going to let him out of her sight until then and, to be perfectly honest, he didn't want her to. He hung the 'patch on the heater and adjusted a drying glove. The first thing he'd done was replace those with a clean set and put them as close to the warmth as possible.

"Thank you for coming for me," he said suddenly.  
Hawkeye blinked.  
"You've never had to thank me."  
"No. I've never been able to thank you enough. In fact," he continued, before his nerve could fail him, "I've been –"  
"Now is not the time to have this conversation, sir."  
"Hawkeye…Riza –"

Whether he would have managed to finish the sentence was difficult to say but the point became moot as the doorknocker boomed out.  
"I'll get it."  
They said it together. Mustang cleared his throat.  
"Probably the clean up squad. But…cover me."  
Ever so slightly self-conscious at going to his own door with an armed escort, he crossed the room with his fingers ready to snap. Pulling back the latch, he gripped the handle, nodded to Hawkeye and pulled.

There was a flash of light bright enough to hurt. When it had cleared, Mustang's gloves had vanished, both Hawkeye's pistols were gone and the man in the white cloak was standing next to the heater.

"Please. Don't be alarmed."  
The soft, polite voice did not prevent the two soldiers from colliding with the walls as they jumped backwards. A slender obsidian hand emerged from the folds of snowy cloth, holding out the missing weapons.  
"My apologies for removing these. It would have been inconvenient if you had inflicted damage upon this body."  
Neither of them answered him. He bowed his head.

"Brigadier General Roy Mustang, Major Riza Hawkeye. My actions towards you have been unforgivably abrupt but I assure you that my motives are not antagonistic. My name is Diligence. And I must speak with you on a matter of the utmost urgency."

* * *

_A/N: Yep, the old friendly couple in a farmhouse cliche. But I hope seeing Mustang get blasted with a water pipe will make up for the unorignallity of that one._

_AkitaFallow: Glad you're enjoying it! It's not Ed but it's certainly connected to him..._


	4. Chapter 3: Story Time

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 3: Story Time**

The sun persisted in shining unnecessarily brightly for a spring afternoon. That, among other things, was making the mountain trail less than idyllic.  
"This is ludicrous."  
"You have mentioned it, sir."  
"We should be checking ourselves into the nearest mental home!"  
"Yes sir."  
"Doing this…it's crazy!"

"Sir?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Shut up and keep climbing."

* * *

_The first thing Diligence did was return the guns and the gloves, the second to apologise yet again for having taken them. The third was to fold his cloak aside and pull back his hood._

_Beneath the garment, his skin was completely and utterly black. Not brown or tan or chocolate but black, like tar or jet. He was thin, malnourished even, though he did not appear to be in any discomfort. His narrow face was framed by long white hair and the eyes that looked out from it lacked both pupils and whites, existing purely as golden orbs in lined sockets. When he spoke, there was a flash of silver, needle-sharp teeth. The only clothing he wore was a kilt, again of white fabric. The bizarre picture was completed by a cyan tattoo inscribed across his chest, consisting of interlaced ellipses and circles, built up into a representation of an eye._

_He sat bolt upright in a chair, waiting for permission to speak. Mustang gave it with a curt, "Well?"_  
"_I am sorry for the altercation earlier. I intended to lead you to a more secluded area where we could talk uninterrupted. My form, however, is fragile and I had to act quickly to prevent you from inadvertently inflicting severe harm. I hope that I did not cause injury."_  
"_Why do you want to talk to me?"_  
"_Because you have had reasonably direct experience of the forces that I must discuss. It was felt that you would be more understanding than someone who lacked that experience. Your connection with Alphonse and Edward Elric was also a factor."_

* * *

"This rucksack is killing me."  
"Mine's fine."  
"You're tougher than I am, Hawkeye."  
"Yes sir."

* * *

_"Other worlds? Gates of Truth? Impending apocalypses? You expect us to believe this?" Mustang's tone was laden with sarcasm.  
"I can only speak the truth. Nothing more, nothing less."  
"That," Hawkeye pointed out, "is hardly an unbiased opinion."  
"But it is accurate." Diligence pressed his fingertips together. "You must understand. These are not concepts that can easily be put in human terms. The Gate itself is a matter of perception rather than reality. But the threat it faces is real and the danger that threat poses to all that exists, immense." _

* * *

"I can't believe I'm halfway up a mountain on the say so of someone who seems to think he's an angel or something."  
"No sir."

* * *

_"Like any animal, the Gate created entities to protect itself. Antibodies, if you will. We seven were tasked with collecting up the misplaced souls and returning them to their world of origin."  
"You mean kill them?" There was an odd tremor in Hawkeye's voice.  
"Not unless absolutely necessary. It was considered safer to transfer them body and soul back to their correct sides."  
"Hm." Mustang snapped and toyed idly with the flame created. "So why isn't Fullmetal back underfoot and putting a wrecking ball through my career?"  
"Something occurred that was…unexpected."_

* * *

"Do you have to keep calling me 'sir'? They'll throw us out of the Military for this so you might as well get used to civilian names."  
"As far as anyone is concerned, we are on an official mission. There is no reason for them to suspect otherwise. We will not be thrown out. Sir."

* * *

_"Kindness was dispatched to collect the Elric brothers and one other. However, she was waylaid and now we cannot reach her. It appears some force is attempting to prevent us repairing the damage created by the forcible bridging of worlds."  
"__That can't be good."  
Hawkeye elbowed him in the ribs.  
"__What will happen if you cannot send Edward and Alphonse home?"  
"The damage can still be repaired. But without the assurance that alchemy will never again be performed in a world where it should not exist, the effort could well be for naught. Another such event might shatter the Gate completely, unleashing forces that nothing else could contain. The resultant chaos would rip universes to shreds."_

* * *

"I suppose not. But you could call me Roy all the same, couldn't you?"  
"I could."  
"Then why don't you?"  
"Mind that rock, sir. I think it's loose."  
"Wha – _oomph_!"

* * *

"_You want us to do _what_?!"  
Diligence inclined his head._  
"_The six of us who remain at liberty cannot risk becoming ensnared by the same force that has Kindness. We believe that sending human agents in our stead would be the most effective alternative."  
Mustang started pacing._  
"_So you want me to just up and leave my duties to go questing in another world? Travel through the Gate and bring back pipsqueak and company?"_  
"_Yes."_  
"_That's ludicrous!"_  
"_Nothing I have said contradicts the facts as you know them."_  
"_Well, no…"_  
"_You wish to help your friends."_  
"_Friends? I wouldn't say –"_

"_Can you prove anything you've said?" Hawkeye asked the question as calmly as if she were asking to see someone's ID.  
Diligence considered._  
"_I can show you the other world. Transfer your souls there for a moment."_  
"_How will we know what you show us is real?"_  
"_Proof of that I cannot offer. You will have to trust me."_

* * *

"Are you all right, sir?"  
"_Fine_."  
"I don't think anything you were carrying broke."  
"Oh, _good_. I was really worried I might have dented a canteen as well as my elbow."

* * *

_There was a flash of white light._

_Mustang blinked._  
"_Where are we?"_  
"_This city is called Munich," said the dark blur at his side, "We are in a country called Germany."_  
"_It feels…real…" Hawkeye ran her fingers over the bricks of the wall next to them. "The air and the stone…it even smells real."_  
"_And they look real as well." Mustang pointed to a gaggle of young women. "I wonder…"  
He trailed off, staring._

_A bespectacled police officer strolled by, tilting his helmet politely to the ladies._  
"_Maes…"  
Mouthing in utter disbelief, Mustang made to follow him down the street._  
"_No." Diligence's emotionless voice held him back. "A version of Maes Hughes, perhaps, but not him."_  
"_But…but it was…"_  
"_Only what might have been."_

_Shock gave way to anger._  
"_Did you know he'd be here?Are you trying to manipulate my emotions? Is that it?!"_  
"_No. Your subconscious chose this location, not mine."_  
"_How could I have –"_

_Hawkeye cut him off again._  
"_Can you show us the brothers?"_  
"_If that is what you wish."_

* * *

"I hope Fullmetal appreciates how much we're doing for him."  
"I'm sure he will, sir."

* * *

_There was a flash of white light._

_They stood between the ends of two beds. On one, a young man of about twenty lay sprawled, dead to the world with his hair cascading across his back. On the other, a younger, taller man tossed and turned, restless in the depths of sleep._  
"_He's still shorter than me," was Mustang's first comment as he looked down at Edward.  
Hawkeye glared at him and knelt to examine the writhing Alphonse._  
"_They seem to be healthy. Al has certainly grown since I last saw him."_  
"_He looks his proper age, you mean. Yes, I'd noticed that." He wandered to the window and tried to see out. "Where are we now?"_

"_The north of France," Diligence supplied, "It borders Germany. But you should not concern yourselves with establishing location. We can provide you with the means to find them."_  
"_Convenient."_  
"_Is all this proof enough?"  
Mustang turned to regard the Gate-creature thoughtfully._  
"_Assuming it's all your going to give us until we agree, I suppose it could be worse."_

* * *

"Are we nearly there yet?"  
"Sir, are you whining because I'm not being sympathetic about a few minor scrapes?"  
"No, I'm whining because I'm tired, hungry and getting sunburnt."  
"I warned you…"  
"I know, I know. You didn't answer the question."  
"What question?"  
"Are we nearly_ there _yet?"

* * *

"_You agree to help?"  
The Flame Alchemist's nod was slow and cautious, hands still tapping the heater to make sure they were back home._  
"_We'll have to make arrangements to get me out of the city without comment – you 'attacking' me might be to our advantage on that…"_  
"_I expect we'll need supplies," Hawkeye put in, practically, "Unobtrusive clothes, appropriate walking gear, a tent possibly –"_  
"_Um, Hawkeye? I…"_  
"_I'm coming with you, sir," she told him, flatly._  
"_But –"_

_She rounded on Diligence._  
"_In this other world without alchemy, will he be able to make fire?"_  
"_No. This world's alchemy only functions when in contact with a suitable quantity of associated matter. You would need to transfer oxygen from here to there en mass for his talents to operate effectively."_  
"_As I thought. So, sir, remind me when you last had to survive on your wits and fists alone? And of your record with firearms?"  
That was a cheap shot but he did his best to rally. She didn't let him get a word in edgeways._  
"_Order me to stay here and I'll resign my commission and follow you anyway. Try and leave me behind and I shall do the same."  
It was all said in an even, matter of fact tone._

_Mustang coughed._  
"_Of course you're coming Hawkeye." I'm never leaving you behind again, he tried and failed to add. "I was simply wondering if it was _safe_ for you to do so given that people seem to get dismembered around this Gate of his."  
It would have been nice, if slightly petty, if she'd blushed at that. Being who she was, she didn't._  
"_There would be no danger," Diligence assured them, "We can fully transfer you without risk to yourselves or the integrity of the Gate."_  
"_Hm. How?"_

* * *

The sun was poised to vanish over the horizon when they finally reached the ridge. Given the way he was feeling, Mustang was starting to doubt the cleverness of circumventing physical training with skilfully timetabled alchemic excursions. Hawkeye, naturally, looked as fresh as when they'd started. 

"Hold up."  
She looked back at him as he dropped his pack next to a boulder and rummaged through his pockets for his gloves.  
"Since this is probably the last time I'll be able to use alchemy for a while…"  
Pulling the ignition cloth over his hands, the familiar touch as comfortable as his own skin, he stepped up onto an outcrop and spread his arms, elbows bent like a conductor. Then he clicked both sets of fingers.

Fire bloomed, twirling streamers of heat and light dancing around them. He crafted them into ethereal shapes, dragons and phoenixes, birds of paradise and lions, griffins and serpents, anything that came to mind. He'd forgotten how much fun it was to play with his abilities. None of the images had the clarity that could be achieved with stone but that had never mattered. Fire was so much more _alive_.

By way of a finale, he merged all the flames into one and shaped it into the face of his companion surrounded by flowers. Letting it burn out naturally, he leant against the rocks and tried to get his breath back.  
"Very impressive," Hawkeye complimented with a faint smile, "And now you've exhausted yourself. "  
"'Was worth it," he mumbled, knees trembling a little.

"Roy Mustang? Riza Hawkeye?"  
Diligence was standing a little way off, cloak closed again but hood still back. Mustang heaved the rucksack over his shoulder and they joined him.  
"This way."  
He led them a little way along the ridge, to a ring of squared off stones. Pushing his hand into the ground in the centre, he turned it as he might a key. At once, the enclosed circle of grass slid smoothly down into the depths of the earth.

Mustang's eyebrow twitched.  
"Oh look. Another important underground structure. Did this country get a job lot or something?"  
The chamber was large and heptagonal, each side dominated by a large, stone version of the eye tattoo. Its walls and floor were made from what looked like marble, gold tracery picking out geometric designs. None of them were transmutation circles. They just seemed to be…circles. The lump of scrub and dirt deposited them at the centre.  
"We created this to assist with your transference."  
"Impressive work. I hope we're worth all this trouble your going to."  
"So do we, Roy Mustang."

Another cloaked figure appeared from nowhere in particular.  
"You will need these." The voice was feminine.  
Hawkeye took the proffered books and wallet.  
"Ah, thank you…"  
"My name is Chastity."

Suddenly, yet without fuss, four more people in hoods stood around them. They varied in height, the smallest being child sized, the tallest easily half again as big as Mustang, but each was slender and robed completely in white.

"So…" The brigadier general eyed the newcomers. "What happens now?"  
The tallest being moved closer.  
"Now we make it as though you were dead."

* * *

A/N: The old flashback trick in full flow! And that, Ladies and Gents, was the plot. Make of it what you will... 


	5. Chapter 4: Brief Encounters

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 4: Brief Encounters**

"You know," Ed grumbled, shifting in his seat, "I'm sure they make train-seats more uncomfortable here."  
"I hadn't noticed." Al looked up from scribbling in a notebook. "You're just still hung-over."  
"I'm not still hung-over! It's almost six o'clock! How could I still be hung-over?"  
"Well, it took you 'till midday to get over what you drank with Jacque."  
"That was only 'cause we got up so early!"  
"And if we hadn't, we'd have missed the market. But even for you, last night was over doing it a little…"  
"I was celebrating!"  
"I noticed. Where _did_ you learn that song?"

Muttering about treacherous little brothers taking lessons from Mustang, Ed crossed his arms and glowered. Al went back to his writing, biting down a chuckle. The train rattled on through the evening countryside.  
"What do you write in that thing anyway?"  
"Oh, anything that comes to mind."  
"Such as?"  
"Just thoughts and stuff. Language practice. Chemistry. Alc – err…just things I can't get off my mind…"

"'Alchemy'?"  
Now it was Al's turn to shift uneasily.  
"Sometimes. Why not? It doesn't work but we spent most of our lives –"  
"Hey, I'm not criticising!" Ed laughed, "I catch myself thinking about it as well." He became serious. "But we could be spending the _rest_ of our lives here…"  
"Brother, I know that…"  
"Oh, hell." He rubbed his neck. "'Course you do. Sorry Al. I'm being…I don't know."

Al put the book and pen to one side and leant forward.  
"What's eating you, brother? You've been acting strange ever since we stole the bomb. _Do_ you think someone's going to come after it?"  
The answer came with a sigh.  
"No. It's not that. While we were fixing Jacque's cart, I…I realised that I didn't know what we were going to do next. When we've got rid of this thing…what do we do? For so long, it's been one goal after another. The Stone, stopping Scar, fighting the Homunculi, getting home, finding the bomb…now though…even if there is a way to use this world's science to get back, we'd never be able to do it on our own. And then…we can't let it happen again, Al, we just can't."  
_A hand reaching from beneath fallen masonry, limp and dead._ Al swallowed hard.  
"I know. So we make our homes here. You're still a genius, brother!"  
"You're no dunce yourself…"  
"So we shouldn't have anything to worry about!"

Almost grudgingly, Ed let the optimism soothe him a little.  
"Yeah…you're right. _Someone_ must need a couple of decent scientists – hell, a couple of more than decent scientists!"  
Glad to see him cheered up, Al picked up his notebook.  
"Exactly! So you shouldn't worry. Besides, lets get rid of that" – he jabbed his pen at the sack under Ed's seat – "before we consider anything else."

A distant thump-_clunk_ announced that the train was beginning to slow.  
"Wanna stretch your legs, Al?"  
"Hm? Oh, no thanks. I'm fine."  
"Well, I do. Mind the luggage."

* * *

The station was full of smoke and people. He stepped down from the carriage, ready to bolt back inside at a moment's notice. Passengers thronged up and down the platform, heaving luggage with them. A boy selling newspapers tugged at his sleeve. Disposed as he was to be indulgent to anyone who made him feel tall, Ed bought one. 

Tucking it under his arm, he leant against a pillar, closing his eyes wearily. If he was honest, he knew he wasn't being entirely truthful with Al. He _did_ still feel hung-over. Headachy, anyway. Whether that was because of alcohol or the way his sober brain kept trying to beat itself up with indecision and guilt, he could not say.  
"That's equivalency for you," he muttered ruefully, "Things on the outside have started to look up. Inside, I can't stop looking on the dark side."

"Careful with that! It's been in the family for _generations_!"  
Startled, he turned. A little way down the train, a massive, bald man with a huge blonde moustache was directing a group of harried porters as they manoeuvred several heavy-looking cases. Unable to help himself, Ed collapsed into a fit of giggling. What were the chances? Never in a million years had he expected there to be _another_ Armstrong. One was bad enough! At least he wasn't pulling his shirt off and tossing the trunks in single-handedly.

"Are you all right?"  
The concerned question came from a tall woman in a serious grey dress. Not so hysterical as to escape a surge of embarrassment, he hiccoughed something about remembering a very good joke and staggered away. Wait 'till Al heard about this! That somewhere in the world there was an Alex Louis Armstrong to terrorise people with crushing embraces and tales of his family's history suddenly made everything seem a whole lot more bearable.

The guard's whistle sent him dashing back aboard and he chortled all the way to their compartment.

* * *

He left so quickly he completely failed to notice that the tall woman had spoken to him in English or that the moment she saw his face, all the colour went out of her own. She watched him vanish in pure, goggle-eyed shock. 

"Mademoiselle? Is something wrong?"  
The irony that such a question should now be asked of her was lost.  
"Pardon?"  
An elderly porter blinked myopically up at her.  
"Is something wrong?" he repeated.  
"N-no. No, I'm fine."  
Recomposing herself, she half-nodded in nervous politeness and departed as fast as she could without breaking into a sprint.

It was only when she glimpsed her reflection in a shop window that she checked her flight, slowing to tuck a few strands of black hair back where they belonged.  
"Helen?"  
Another woman, smaller, older but wearing similar clothes, stepped out in front of her.  
"My dear! You're deathly white! Whatever is the matter?"  
"Oh, Anna…I…" Helen put out an arm to steady herself against the wall. "I was in the station and…I thought…I swear…I saw Edward."

Anna's eyes widened.  
"Edward? But…my dear, we both know that's impossible."  
"I know, I know…it can't have been him but…he had the same face, the same eyes… It was like seeing a ghost."  
The other lady gently took her free hand.  
"It must have been quite a shock. But it wasn't him. It can't have been."  
"I…yes, you're quite right. I'm…I'm sorry…"  
"You have nothing to be sorry about. Now…the doctor will be waiting for us."

* * *

The attic room was not the most spacious of accommodation but it was clean and relatively quiet. Graves tapped his front teeth with a pen and leant back in his chair. Securing such a private space had been about the only thing to have gone right since their arrival. The mix up with the train, the subsequent break down that had stranded them in the town, the Patient's inexplicable fit… Difficulties on the journey were to be expected but on this scale? 

One thing was certain. Chambers would not be happy. Not that Chambers ever _was_ happy. Or unhappy, for that matter. But still, he was not someone to whom it was easy to relate problems…

A knock echoed from the region of the door.  
"Come."  
Anna led Helen inside. Graves bounded from his chair.  
"Nurse Simons, Nurse Jameson! About time. Has everything been sorted?"  
"Yes, doctor," Anna replied, helping the other woman sit down, "The tickets have been booked, we can leave in the morning."  
"Excellent! Um… Is Jameson…?"  
"She has just had quite a shock but she'll be fine."

"How is he?" Helen's eyes were fixed on the bed at the other end of the room.  
"The Patient? Sleeping. Seems to have calmed down. Did you say shock? What do you mean?"  
"There was…someone at the station who looked like –"  
Another knock, louder and firmer than Anna's, cut her off. Irritably, Graves signalled for quiet and went to fling it open.

"Monsieur Graves?" The hotel proprietor poked his head nervously across the threshold. "There is a telephone call for you. The office of a Monsieur Chambers."  
On the verge of snapping at the man, Graves froze.  
"Chambers? Ah. I see. Ladies, if would excuse me…?"  
The stout Englishman practically ran downstairs.

Anna sniffed.  
"The man has the backbone of an eel. Honestly! He jumps whenever he hears that name!"

* * *

"I see." The speaker toyed with the phone cord as he listened to Graves' scratchy, nervous voice. "I wouldn't worry. I'm reasonably sure he won't blame you for the deficiencies of the French train service. _Reasonably_ sure. What of the Patient?" Smooth fingers twisted the flex. "Good. It would have been terribly inconvenient otherwise." A figure of eight, a spiral, a sine wave. "Not your concern. Concentrate on the matters that you are qualified to deal with. Leave everything else to us." A sharp tug, erasing the shapes. "Bon voyage, doctor. And do your best to avoid further delays, won't you?" 

He tossed the handset casually onto its cradle.  
"The hiatus appears to be transient. The good doctor assures me his party will recommence their progress on the morrow."  
"Acceptable." The measured tone drifted over the whisper of turning pages. "And while I appreciate your desire to expedite proceedings, teasing Graves strikes me as a little unprofessional."  
The telephonist stretched.  
"It never hurts to remind the subordinates that that is what they are."  
"Hmm." Light flashed briefly off a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles. "He is my colleague, not your subordinate. Confine your enjoyment to the expense of those you employ."

He accepted the reprimand by flicking dust from a cuff.  
"If you insist. But between watching those brats and trying to find Falconer, there are few left here who are worth the effort. Are you sure tracking _children_ is a useful exercise?"  
"They are important. Monitoring them can no longer be left to chance."  
"Then use your 'infallible' methods."  
"That option is no longer available. Marquis, if you are truly in need of manpower, call off the search for our stray."

The Marquis' fist struck the telephone table hard enough to make it rattle.  
"No!"  
"So be it." Pen clinked against inkpot. "But you are veering dangerously close to obsession."  
"_That_ is the pot calling…" The insult trailed off very quickly. He cleared his throat. "Have you considered the danger of them realising what's going on?"  
"I have considered _all_ the dangers present. I find that one unlikely. Your men are competent, are they not?"  
"I wasn't referring to the dogs. What if they discover they've been handed a –"  
"They will not." The three words were spoken in a very final manner.

"Hn." Boots clicking on the stonework, the Marquis paced a little. "I trust your judgement, of course. And your faith that all the pieces will be in place in place for the final act."  
"Please don't mangle your metaphors quite so badly." This was succeeded by a tired sigh. "If you have reservations about the arrangements, would you kindly make them plain? I have no desire to arrive at a crucial stage and find your resolve lacking."  
"My only reservation, the one I have mentioned to you repeatedly, is the risk you are taking in leaving vital components to wander around free. It would have been far simpler to gather them all up before we moved our operations here."

"In that case…" A chair creaked as its occupant leaned forward. "Let me try once more to make this perfectly clear. Assembling the Patient, our 'guest' and, if necessary, Hohenheim's children before we are completely ready would leave us wide open to the chance of a coordinated escape attempt. The moment either party learns what we are planning, they will do everything in their power to prevent us continuing. Keeping them scattered and ignorant is entirely to our advantage. If you find that inconvenient, so be it."

"Message received," the Marquis smirked, "I'll go and sit in a corner and twiddle my thumbs until I'm needed."  
"Then could I trouble you to do it somewhere else? I have work to do."  
Throwing an off-hand salute, he marched to the door.  
"As you command, Mr Chambers, as you command…"

* * *

A/N Not entirely certain if that last bit works as a means of heightening the mystery. It might just be confusing... 


	6. Chapter 5: Soft Landings

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 5: Soft Landings**

Roy Mustang opened his eyes. That he could definitely counted as a good thing. There were cobblestones a few inches from his nose. That seemed like another. He could feel something fairly solid pressing into his stomach. Possibly a third. Now if only his brain would stop running away whenever he tried to use it, he might be able to get somewhere.  
"Sir."  
A voice. Where was it coming from?  
"_Sir_."  
Close by. But he couldn't quite pin it down…  
"Roy!"

Like a scalded cat, he sprang away. With him no longer lying across her, Hawkeye was able to sit up, which she did to the sound of a muffled curse.  
"Sorry, Hawkeye." He held out a hand. "I didn't realise I was…"  
"So I should hope." She accepted the assistance. "We seem to have survived the trip."  
"We do. I'm not sure what I was expecting from a journey to another world, but that definitely was not it."  
The street on which they stood was shrouded in early morning gloom, deep shadows still clinging to the stone buildings. There was no one else about.  
"Doesn't look very 'other worldly', does it?"  
"No, sir."

He rounded on her.  
"You've already called me Roy once. As of now, you do not get to call me 'sir' again 'till we're back in uniform. Clear?"  
Her expression was carefully blank.  
"Clear."  
"Good. What were those books they gave us?"

They proved to be French, German and Austrian phrase books. The wallet turned out to be stuffed with currency from at least five countries, as well as maps of the same and, in a display of foresight that bordered on genius, a sheaf of train timetables.  
"All of which isn't much use until we know where we are," Hawkeye was quick to point out. She then prodded Mustang in the chest. "Are you wearing a necklace?"  
Frowning, he dug under his shirt.  
"I wasn't…"

Pulling the hand out, he opened it palm up. Nestling inside were four glass beads the size of marbles, connected to a fine silver chain. Each contained a hemisphere of coloured material with a hole through its centre.  
"Like eyes…" He picked one up. The 'iris' moved. Intrigued, he tried tilting it. The coloured disc swung so that it constantly pointed in the same direction. "Or do I mean compasses…"  
Hawkeye took another of them. It acted in the same way.  
"Bronze, gold… The Elrics?"  
"Could be. Yes, that makes sense. These two are looking the same way. This one's solid yellow. Must be 'Kindness'. But what about this?"  
The fourth bead was smoky, the colour lost to greyness. All that was clear was the dark spot of the pupil.  
"The other person from our world."  
Mustang nodded.  
"Of course. So this is what our friend in white meant by a means to find our strays. It certainly has the novelty factor –"

"Do that again."  
"What?"  
"The smoky one. Hold it up."  
He did. The eye suddenly flashed with a soft white glow. On impulse, he took a step in the direction it was aiming at. The glow became stronger.  
"Proximity, you think?"  
"That would make sense. They've thought of everything, haven't they?"  
"Ask me again when we're through." He examined the sky. A hint of sunrise was starting to creep into view. "Let's make use of the dark while we can and track down our unknown quarry. I'd have liked to find Fullmetal first but if this one's close by…"

* * *

The building it led them to was, as far as they could tell, a kind of hotel. They settled on the curb opposite and considered what to do next.  
"Standard stake out procedure or as close to it as we can get," was the brigadier's suggestion, "We wait and see who comes out. With luck, this thing will let us know which one's our man."  
"Or woman," Hawkeye added absently. 

Something was clearly preoccupying her. After a minute's silence, she told him what.  
"S – Those beings, Diligence, Chastity, the others…as an alchemist, what's your opinion of them?"  
"Technically? Not made by humans, physically very weak, very skilled with alchemy, black skin, white clothing, yellow eyes… A very neat and exact inversion of the homunculi of our acquaintance. Which my head tells me is too suspicious to be true or, if it is, a good thing. In fact, my head remains thoroughly unconvinced that any of this is going to end well. My instincts, on the other hand…"  
"They believe him."  
"Right. In complete defiance of years of experience and training, my instincts took one look at Diligence and decided here was someone I could trust even if they told me the sky was green, never mind if they said I could help get Fullmetal back. Brigadier General Mustang the Flame Alchemist clocked off and Roy Mustang the credulous kid came in. Even when I tried, I couldn't _not_ believe him…"  
"Hypnosis?"  
He shrugged.  
"Perhaps. Whatever it was, I think from the moment he opened his mouth, we didn't have a choice in the matter. We'd have let him do anything he wanted with us and only offered a token protest." A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. "And we did."

The rattle of a passing train drifted out of the distance.  
"One of us should scout the area." Concerns voiced, Hawkeye was once more the consummate professional. "We still don't know our exact location and holes in our knowledge like that will make us stick out in the crowd."  
"Stick out _more_ than we will anyway, you mean." He stood up. "You're better equipped to accost our target. I'll go. You take the, err…magic necklace and stay out of sight here. If you spot whoever it is…"  
"I'll 'accost' them. Yes, s – yes, of course."  
His mouth curled into a wry smile.  
"Keep working on that. I'll be back by sun up."

* * *

True to his word, he reappeared as the population emerged into dawn light. Now there were more people about, they retreated down a small side street so their discussions could be more private.  
"This town is called Colmar. From the little I was able to understand, we're close to this country's border. The station's that way, main roads lead off over there, there and there and, most importantly, there's what looks like a bakery back the way I came. I for one am starving." 

This time it was Mustang who stayed to keep an eye on the hotel, since Hawkeye had spent his absence studying the phrase book and therefore stood a better chance of securing breakfast. Ten minutes later they were both doing their best to eat pastries with some sort of dignity. It was an uphill struggle.

Activity opposite was confined to the milkman, a pair of elderly ladies and a fat man who went out and came back with a paper. The eye did not react to any of them.  
"I wonder who it is."  
Hawkeye swallowed the last of her food and looked sideways in curiosity.  
"How do you mean?"  
"Well, who else apart from Edward and Alphonse has ever 'crossed over' to here?"  
She considered.  
"They're the only ones who ever came back. It's possible others who crossed weren't so lucky."  
"Hmm. Didn't their father vanish about the same time Edward first did?"  
"By all accounts, his sudden absences were nothing unusual."  
"That's true…but you know, smoky as this is, it could almost be gold underneath."  
"Can't say I see that – wait, did it just…?"

The second flare of brilliance inside the bead was even more noticeable. The hotel's front door opened.

The first emergent was a wheelchair propelled by a short, white haired woman in a grey dress. She parked the contraption on the pavement and disappeared back inside. A minute later she returned, arms heaped with blankets. Next, a younger woman backed out, looking concernedly into the hallways. The object of her attention proved to be two men – the hotel owner and the fat newspaper-buyer – carrying between them a huddled form wrapped in bandages. With the utmost care, they placed their burden in the wheelchair, securing whoever it was with waist straps and one of the blankets. The owner scuttled back indoors and a couple of suitcases were passed out. This ritual complete, the older woman seized the chair again and the group proceeded up the street, toward the station.

Mustang raised a laconic eyebrow.  
"Well, that wasn't in the least bit suspicious, was it?"

* * *

"Whew." The train lurched into motion and he lurched into the compartment wall. "Ow. That was fun."  
"Hitting your head or trying to get through a railway station quickly when no one in the ticket office understands a word you're saying?"  
"Both. It didn't help that they were all staring at you. Doesn't look like people here are used to women in trousers…"  
She shot him a look. When she has satisfied herself that he honestly hadn't been implying or hinting at anything, she went back to studying the map.  
"That's a shame. I didn't pack my summer dress." 

Deciding that there was no safe answer to that, Mustang settled for asking if she knew where they were going.  
"East. Towards the border with Germany. Though of course we have no idea where they'll get off."  
"Shouldn't be too hard to spot. We know they're in the last coach and they won't be going anywhere fast with that wheelchair. Any points of local interest along the way?"  
"No idea. But…" She bit her lip.  
"What?"  
"It may just be coincidence…but…the eyes."  
He picked them up from the seat next to him.  
"What about…oh."

With the exception of the smoky one, all of the beads were 'looking' due east. The train was taking them precisely where they wanted to go.

* * *

A/N Things start to move! ... Sorry, terrible pun. Anyway, deliberate vagueness aside, I hope everyone followed that. I'm trying not to go too quickly... 


	7. Chapter 6: Home From Home

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 6: Home from Home**

"Whoever said that the train is the best way to travel should be shot."  
"At dawn?"  
"At any damn time you can catch him!"  
"It's not their fault the connection was delayed."  
"_Delayed_?! We had to wait all night on that damn platform!"  
"That's still not their fault. And it wasn't too bad. Not cold or anything. No worse than if we'd had to sleep on the train."

Al knew that his answer was logical and well thought out. He was also well aware that logic was the last thing his brother was going to listen to. Ed was in the mood to gripe about anything within reach and it was safer to let him grumble his frustrations away than risk bodily harm to innocent bystanders.

Being mid morning, there was no shortage of those. The streets were thronged with people going about their day to day business in complete ignorance of the dreadful weapon being carried through their midst. The staff drew a few quizzical glances but on the whole the Elrics' passing went completely unnoticed. An absurd thought struck Al and for an instant he imagined himself as an animated suit of armour striding along the German streets.

"What are you sniggering about?"  
"Oh, nothing… Hey, brother? Think Noah will have got here ahead of us?"  
"Eh…we made good time. Shouldn't think so." Ed shrugged. "We'll know soon enough."  
Mid-nod, Al felt something against his neck. A second later, he felt the same thing on his nose and looked skywards. Above them, the sun was rapidly disappearing behind a wall of greyness.

"Looks like rain…"

* * *

The crash of Ed flinging the front door open almost drowned out the thunder. He shot into the hallway like a very wet cannonball, cursing enthusiastically. Al tumbled in after him, spluttering from the force of the sheets of rain now pummelling the town.  
"Should have taught you to fight with an umbrella not a stick!" Ed spat, shaking and sending water flying from his hair, "Argh!"  
"Stop! You're getting everything wet!"  
"Good! Then it won't just be me!"  
"It _isn't_ just you! Just…stay still and drip. I'll go and get towels."  
Already barefoot, Al sprang past and darted up the stairs. 

Making a sound somewhere between 'urble' and 'blargh', the remaining brother shed his overcoat. Leaving it where it fell, he stormed into the kitchen and started rummaging for dry matches. Luckily, they had had the foresight to stock up on wood when they'd rented the place so there was fuel for the stove but he couldn't remember if they'd left the means to light it. Oh, wouldn't Mustang love this. _'Need a light, Fullmetal?'_ His hand closed around a little cardboard box. Relieved, he pulled it out of the cupboard and went to wrestle with the cast iron monolith.

It was only when he slumped down in front of the blessed heat that he realised that part of him would give almost anything for that measured, smirking voice to have drifted in right then. Strange, the things you found yourself missing…  
"Here!"  
He turned at exactly the right moment to received a towel full in the face.

Eventually, after the chase around the room had done most of the stove's work for it, they set about the serious business of devouring those groceries that had survived the downpour. Not that anything had been irretrievably lost, but like them, the food needed time to dry off.  
"So much for the good weather, huh?"  
"It's just a summer storm, brother. It'll pass."  
"Yeah, but before or after it gets through the roof?" He swallowed a chunk of bread. "I'm not paying that bastard landlord more because the attic got flooded."

Al mumbled noncommittally, most of his attention reserved for the map spread over one half of the table. His right forefinger tapped thoughtfully.  
"There's a lake about twenty miles away that's pretty deep."  
"Let's see." Ed leaned over. "Yeah…out of the way, too. Should be _fun_ getting up there but no one's gonna be in a hurry to drag the place."  
"D'you think it'd be a good idea to scatter the components? You know, just in case…"  
"It would…the bits that have already been taken off, anyway. I'd try breaking more of it if I was sure it wouldn't go off in our faces… Those Thule scientists were lucky they didn't end up in little bits themselves if you ask me."

* * *

"Sodding rain."  
The guard bounced his head against the hut's wall, hoping in vain that some of the thunderous drumming would be drowned out. It wasn't, nor was the thankfully increasingly distant rumbling of clouds crashing together.  
"Gah! I'll kill Jennings for sticking me out here! Git must have known –"  
He stopped. 

There was a new, deeper note to the pounding, which meant either the rain had suddenly got a lot heavier or someone was trying to beat down the door. Both options held the same lack of attraction. Growling, he got up and went to check, throwing the hatch open with considerable force.

A pair of deep-set eyes glared through the slit, followed by a stream of light-speed French.  
"Uh?" responded the guard.  
A growl came from outside.  
"Arh! Open and let me in, you dull-witted cretin!"  
Recognition and surprise spread over the drier man's face.  
"Hey, you aren't supposed to be back here!"  
There was another, louder, angrier growl.  
"Idiot! Let me in this _instant_!"  
The way in which this was said did not encourage argument.

Quickly dealing with the bolts and latches, the guard admitted a short, wiry man in a heavy coat. He had all the attributes of someone you wouldn't look at twice if you glimpsed him on the street. Which, of course, was exactly the point.  
"English dolt!" the newcomer raged in a pronounced Gallic accent, "Tell the main building I'm here! I need to see the Marquis at once!"  
"But –"  
"Can't you understand your own language? At once!"

* * *

"I do hope this is good, Luke. I recall giving you and Abel specific instructions to remain on the children's' coattails." The Marquis, his back to the other man, paused to take a sip of his wine. "And to only report via telephone."  
"They're here."  
More of the red liquid was drained.  
"Define your terms, my friend, define your terms. Who is here? And what, for that matter, do you mean by 'here'?"  
Luke, coat gone to reveal a neatly tailored suit, struggled to remain patient.  
"The _children_. We followed them as you ordered and they led us right back here! They're in the town now, a house off the square." 

A third, prolonged sip and the Marquis placed his glass to one side.  
"And you felt the need to charge through the foulest weather in months to deliver this bombshell in person? Really, Luke. I didn't know you were so impulsive."  
"But surely we should secure them at once! With them so close, it would be child's play!"  
"It would. However, our lord and master has issued an edict to the contrary. Until he decrees otherwise, our task is observation, not interception."  
"Then go and tell him and make him change his mind! It's ridiculous to have us chasing about across the continent when we could have the locked up here!"

Slowly, the Marquis turned his head, just so that one dark eye and a lifted eyebrow became visible.  
"You wouldn't, by any chance, be telling me what to do, would you?"  
His voice was level and calm and utterly chilling. Luke flinched and stammered that that was not what he had meant at all. He was cut off.  
"Good. Mr Chambers is unavailable at present. If you would be so kind as to pen a few lines detailing the situation, I shall inform him of it when he returns. Anything more is up to him."  
"O-of course. I didn't mean to imply –"  
"No, of course you didn't. A slip of the tongue, I'm sure. Consider it forgiven and forgotten." Pearly teeth glinted. "Write your report and return to your duties with a light heart."

Stuttering thanks, Luke started for the door.  
"Oh, and Luke?"  
He went rigid. The teeth glinted again.  
"Don't bother to wait for the rain to stop."

* * *

"Brother?"  
Ed turned to find Al in the doorway and a nightshirt.  
"Are you going to sleep tonight?"  
He grinned.  
"Eventually. You go up. I'll try not to disturb you when I come in."  
The younger boy seemed to accept this statement and disappeared. His brother sighed ran a hand through his hair. He still had it in a ponytail, like Al's only very much longer. Perhaps he should start braiding it again… 

He was suddenly acutely aware of how long he'd been sitting hunched over the table. The pain shot up his spine, forcing him to stretch.  
"Ooh…_ow_! Dumb metal. This is all your fault!"  
The broken pieces strewn over the table didn't answer.

It had taken all afternoon to destroy the components the Thule Society had extracted from their prized possession. What purpose they had once served, he wasn't sure, although he suspected one of them had been the detonator. Thankfully, nothing had exploded as he used a screwdriver, a chisel, a hammer and an unnaturally strong right hand to kill it beyond hope of repair. Huskisson's partially-gutted, dial-encrusted masterpiece sat in the middle of it all, a perfectly innocent looking ball of metals.

Hah. Innocent. Yeah, right.

He got up and took it in both hands. They'd found a chest in the attic – which hadn't flooded – nice and big and heavy. Kicking the lid open, he carefully lowered the bomb inside, onto a bed of old sackcloth. If the landlord missed them and complained, so be it. As far as Ed was concerned, the whole lot was bound for a watery grave as surely as the rest of the remains were due for a mountaintop burial.

Yawning, he closed the box and went to wash his hands. The thunder had stopped long ago but the rain was still pattering against the window. Nice to hear when you were moments away from a snug, warm bed. Whatever other complaints he had about the house, the beds weren't bad. Even better given that it _was_ plural. Sharing during their travels had not been enjoyable, what with them both being restless sleepers and the constant danger of Al getting brained by auto-mail. He wondered idly if anyone had ever thought of building the stuff from anything other than steel. Something nice and soft…after all, it couldn't be comfortable for someone you were…_involved_ with, could it? Except if that someone was Winry, of course. Then she probably wouldn't let you into bed if you _weren't_ half shiny plates and softly whining motors –

Ed started splashing cold water into his face, desperately trying to drive those images as far out of his mind as they'd go. Don't think about her. Don't think about her. Stop thinking about her. Especially like that. Just…don't.

Slowly, reluctantly, his brain let go and he was left dripping and wide-awake. Damn. So much for being tired. Now he'd be awake for hours.

Resigning himself to a long night, he wrung out his hair and wandered about looking for something to read. Through a general lack of choice, he settled on a copy of Newton's _Principia Mathematica_. Alfons had given it to him as a birthday present and it still felt good to remember his friend's shy smile as he'd handed it over with a quip about 'the most famous alchemist of _this_ world'.  
"Wonder what you'd have thought about Alphonse…" Ed murmured to the stained pages, "He looks a lot like you now…guess that makes sense, eh? I think you'd have liked him. Hell, _everyone_ likes Al –"

The sharp _ratatatat_ of a doorknocker split the quiet as effectively as a gunshot.

"What the…?"  
Who on earth would be out in this weather? More to the point, who on earth would be out in this weather and knocking on their door? Who even knew they were there, except…  
"Idiot!" He slapped his forehead. "Noah!"

The knocking started again, louder. Bounding up, he dashed out into the hall.  
"Alright, I'm coming! Key, key…"  
Finding the implement in his back pocket, he fumbled it into the lock, turned and reached for the latch.

* * *

_A/N: You know, this and the next chapter should probably be grouped under the collective title of 'In which everyone gets very wet and spends half their time knocking on doors'. There does seems to be an awful lot of water in this story, doesn't there? First I blast Mustang with a water main, now I drop a thunderstorm on Ed...I'm not usually this cruel, honest :)  
_


	8. Chapter 7: The Long Way Round

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 7: The Long Way Round**

Helen Jameson rubbed her eyes wearily. She had never been able to sleep properly on trains. Or boats. There was simply something so irrationally _wrong_ about resting when you weren't still, no matter how comfortable the surroundings. And the carriage was far from being the lap of luxury.

Opposite, the Patient sat propped upright, apparently doing what she was incapable of. His breathing was regular, calm even. That made her feel better. He deserved some peace. Personally, she thought that he should never have been moved from the hospital. A trip across Europe seemed so…unnecessary given the circumstances. But, of course, Mr Chambers thought differently and what Mr Chambers though, Dr Graves did… There was a movement in the corner of her eye. She lifted her head. What she saw surprised her more than a little.

A man stood outside the compartment, his hand lifted to tap the glass. He was not particularly tall, nor especially broad and would have been completely unremarkable if it weren't for his face. It was, or had once been, handsome, in a vaguely Russian way, with cool obsidian eyes beneath a thatch of straight black hair. Now though, the left side was obscured by a triangle of dark grey felt and she thought she could see a hint of scaring running into the shadows under his ear.

Since she was both a nurse and old enough to have seen what the world could do to people, she did not stare for more than a second. As unexpected as this visitation was, there was no need to be rude. Rising, she slid the door back as quietly as she could – so as not to disturb the Patient – and, in rather halting German, asked if he wanted something.

At that, his expression became helpless and he scratched the back of his head.  
"Um, I'm afraid I don't speak much Deutsch…"  
"Oh!" His English was perfect, if very oddly accented. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise…"  
"Please, don't apologise." He smiled, quite charmingly. "I'm the one who should be doing that. I shouldn't be disturbing a fellow passenger but I noticed you at the station and that you were a nurse and, well…" Embarrassed, he waved at the patch. "I don't want to be a trouble but this suddenly started aching terribly and I wondered if…"  
Not what she had expected but, then, she hadn't known what to expect.  
"I see…well…err, I can take a look." She glanced around. All the nearby compartments were occupied. "You'd better come in, but please be quiet. I don't want to wake him…"

He seated himself with the grace of a cat and carefully removed the covering from his eye. Except there was nothing left there that remotely resembled an eye, just a mass of scar tissue. It was as though a rough circle had been smashed into the skull, blasting everything within its radius to unrecognisable pulp. Tilting his head up to the light confirmed her suspicions.  
"This is a bullet wound, isn't it?"  
"That's right."  
"From the war?"  
"Yes. It aches quite a lot of the time, actually, this is just worse than usual."

Finishing her examination, she sat back, frowning slightly.  
"I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help to you. I can't see anything that looks unusually angry but not knowing your medical history, I can't really speak with any authority. I'm not qualified enough, either. You could wait for Dr Graves…"  
"Would that be a problem?"  
"I…I wouldn't like to say."  
"Ah." The charming smile became knowing. "Well, I shan't bother you further. Besides, I doubt I have anything to complain about compared to your patient. Is he…?"  
"He, yes." She bit her lip. "It's really quite a sad story. But he's recovering, slowly but surely. This trip… Dr Graves believes a change of scenery will help. There's a gentleman he knows from his time at Cambridge who offered room at some sort of institution he runs. With luck, that will help things along."  
"May I ask…what happened to him?"  
She hesitated. He _was_ a complete stranger, as pleasant as he seemed…

The decision was promptly taken away from her.  
"Excuse me."  
Graves filled the doorway, his voice cold. Anna hovered behind him, exuding neutrality.  
"Might I ask what you are doing in here? This is a private compartment."  
The gentleman rose at once.  
"My apologies, sir. This wound of mine was hurting and I happened to notice there was a medical party aboard. I rather selfishly took advantage of the situation."  
"I see." The doctor's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid we can't help you. I suggest you seek attention in one of the towns."  
"Of course." Another smile, this one placating. "Sorry for intruding."

He departed, getting around Graves with a little difficulty and vanishing along the corridor. Helen stood as well, smoothing her skirt nervously.  
"Doctor, I –"  
"This is not good enough, Jameson." Graves' jowls wobbled sternly. "We are _not_ here as a charitable mission to attend to the needs of anyone who strays into view. I would trouble you to remember where your duty lies."  
"Yes doctor," she acknowledged meekly.

* * *

The moment he was out of view of the doctor and his nurses, Mustang's smile dropped away. He traversed the remaining distance with his eyes narrowed.  
"I take it that didn't quite go as planned." Hawkeye didn't even have to look up from her book.  
"No," he replied, sitting down, "The fat man came back from his lunch before I could get much more than sympathy."  
"Nothing useful at all?"  
"Well…I got a good look at their patient. It's a he but apart from that, and that he's recovering 'slowly but surely' from something, all I can tell you is that he's covered head to toe in bandages. And…"  
"And?" Hawkeye turned the page. "And what?"  
"The nurse I spoke to, the dark haired one. When she talked about him, she seemed to come alive, light up, however you want to put it. The professional attitude was still there but I think she cares about him a great deal."  
"Interesting. No clue as to who he is?"  
"None."

They sat in silence for a while, the countryside rattling past the window. The alchemist adjusted his eye-patch.  
"_Does_ it hurt?"  
"Hmm?"  
Hawkeye pointed at covering.  
"Your eye. Does it actually hurt?"  
The question seemed to have baffled him.  
"I…I'm not sure. I don't really pay it any attention any more."  
She nodded, apparently satisfied.  
"We'll have to be careful. Now they've seen you up close, it'll look even more suspicious if they see us following them."  
"Then we make sure they don't see us, don't we?"

* * *

The luggage trolley jerked away suddenly and he nearly stepped on Hawkeye's foot.  
"Sorry. Can you see where they went?"  
"Towards the street."  
Using the crowd – such as it was – as cover, they pursued their quarry across the platform and out into the concourse.

Outside, the morning was warm but the sun was quickly vanishing behind a bank of ominously black clouds. Dr Graves, a target far too large to miss, was standing on the roadside, in deep and heated discussion with a man in a dark suit. The two nurses were clustered around the wheelchair and its bandaged occupant.  
"New friend?" Mustang nodded at the suit.  
"Looks like it," Hawkeye muttered back, "Driver perhaps?"  
"I don't see a…wait."  
A car drew up, grey and new and somehow out of place amid the slightly run-down buildings. A uniformed chauffeur got out and opened the rear door so that the Patient could be lifted in. Graves gesticulated and the suit made placating motions as a second, identical vehicle arrived. They got into that one while the nurses followed the Patient.

"If I were to find a taxi," mused Mustang, "and shout 'follow those cars'…"  
"You would be making yourself look like an idiot."  
"Hm… That's what I thought." He fished beneath his shirt and drew out the smoky eye. "Best foot forward time."

* * *

Thunder crashed and Helen heard a faint whimper from her left. Smiling sympathetically, she reached out and gently squeezed a linen-encased hand.  
"It's all right," she whispered, "It's only thunder. It can't hurt you."  
At her voice, he quietened and she felt his fingers shift slightly, as though he were trying to squeeze back. Happy that she'd soothed him, she settled down to watch the rain.

Their surroundings were swamped by the squall, the landscape reduced to a grey distortion of trees and fields. The weather had turned from ominous to miserable about five minutes into the journey and now, quarter of an hour later, it looked to be approaching forty-days-and-nights standard.  
"Nearly there," the driver grunted.  
Lights appeared in the distance, dirtied by the rain. These quickly resolved themselves into the windows of an imposing stone building, one of a number lined up behind a tall metal fence. The car swung onto a long drive and was waved through the gate by a soggy guard.

Awaiting them beneath a number of umbrellas was a small army of attendants. They swept down upon the newcomers and soon everyone was standing in a large reception room, trying not to drip on anything expensive. Helen patted the Patient's hand again as he uttered a soft moan. It couldn't have been pleasant to be manhandled so much. Graves paced, looking sour. Whether that was because of the weather or because at any moment the dreaded Mr Chambers would show his face, she found it hard to tell. Anna, being Anna, looked neat, proper and calm. One of the attendants – they were almost indistinguishable from one another – opened a door at the far end.

The first impression Chambers made on Helen was of…_blandness_. Tall, thin, dark haired and bespectacled, he reminded her of nothing more than bank manager. There was simply nothing distinctive about him. He might as well have had all his colour and charisma washed away by the rain. Graves jumped as if a hound of Hell had just bitten his ankle and stumbled towards him.  
"Ah…Chambers, old boy…sorry about the delay –"  
"Irrelevant, Thomas." Chamber's voice was flat, dull and, frankly, lifeless. "All that matters is that you are here."  
He crossed to them in a stately glide, moving in a perfectly straight line. Helen found she was gripping a wheelchair handle and forced herself to let go. Why on Earth did she suddenly feel so nervous?

Chambers halted before the chair, examining the Patient with a silver-rimmed stare. His glasses shone with a glaring reflectivity.  
"Hello again, my friend." There was still no warmth in his words. "I hope the trip was not too tiring." He spun, with mechanical precision. "The hospital wing is this way. His quarters have been prepared, as have yours. Your rooms will be Spartan, I'm afraid, but adequate. I will introduce you to the other members of the institution in due course. You will all have to report to the Marquis as soon as you have settled."  
"Th-the Marquis?" Graves asked.  
"Yes. He is in charge of security. He will need to know your faces and to issue you with passes."

An attendant took charge of the wheelchair so Helen was free to move close to Anna.  
"How odd. This place…it's almost…military."  
"It is, isn't it? What do you think of our host?"  
"He's…not what I anticipated."  
"No. A very odd fish."  
The two women hurried after the procession.

* * *

"Much more of this and I'll grow gills."  
Mustang was incredibly thankful that they'd packed waterproof coats and hats. He was not so grateful that the climate had clearly taken offence to this and was doing its level best to bypass the obstacles.

Contrary to popular belief, he had no great objection to rain as a concept. It helped pretty flowers grow and things. But being stuck in the middle of a field at the mercy of a blatantly vindictive batch of it was not one of his favourite pastimes. Hawkeye, as ever, was utterly un-phased. A tornado could not have shaken the woman. He pitied the one that tried. However, even she succumbed to _some_ human weaknesses eventually.  
"Do you think we can gain anything more here?"  
He blinked. Was the question a joke?  
"Only pneumonia. How about going back to that town, finding rooms for the night and coming back to investigate when the rain stops?"  
"Sounds like a very good idea."

The walk back along muddy roads was less than pleasant. The situation was only exacerbated when they managed to get lost. How, Mustang wasn't sure, but by the time an hour-long out bound journey had morphed into a three-hour-and-counting return trek, he knew the conclusion was inevitable.

Very much eventually, they tramped up to the station forecourt. No longer caring about getting wet, the Probably-Never-Going-To-Be-Dry-Enough-To-Make-A-Spark-Again Alchemist flopped down onto the steps with a groan of relief and hunger.  
"I told you that sign was pointing the wrong way!"  
"No, you didn't," Hawkeye corrected, dropping down beside him.  
"I didn't?"  
"No. Your precise words were 'thank the gods, only a mile to go'."  
"Oh. Well, I'm tired and hungry and waterlogged, so how am I supposed to remember all these trivial little details?"

She sighed.  
"We have to find somewhere to stay."  
"Fine, fine. Next time we do this, we're bringing the whole office. That way we won't have to do all the walking." He reluctantly got up. "Hold on. Did those maps have hotels marked on them?"  
"Yes, I think so. But since you've got them, I can't be sure."  
"I've…oh, yes. In my inner pocket." Even more reluctantly, he unbuttoned his coat. "Yergh. Now I'm even more…"

His shirt was glowing. Or, more accurately, the bulge that was the compass-eyes was.  
"That's odd. I thought we were out of range of –"  
He stopped. All thought of getting wetter left. He clawed the necklace out into the open. The eyes they'd identified as pointing towards the Elric brothers were lit with the same soft light they'd seen for the Patient in Colmar.

Had any of the inhabitants of the small German town been inclined to twitch aside their curtains at that point, they would have borne witness to the sight of two highly trained Amestrian soldiers pelting their way through rain-swept streets with the restraint of children who've just noticed the chocolate shop up the next hill. Nearly skidding into a lamppost, Mustang waved the necklace like a magic charm. The gold and bronze irises were almost lost to a blaze of white. He could just discern that they were aiming at a narrow house on the other side of the market place.

"There!" he whooped, not caring who he disturbed.  
In seconds, his hand was around the doorknocker and he was hammering for all his worth.

* * *

_A/N: Told you things would still be wet. And Syolen? You were dead right about it not being Noah!  
_


	9. Intermission 1: Miss Rockbell Entertains

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Intermission 1: Miss Rockbell Entertains…**

It did not rain often in Rush Valley but when it did, it _poured_.

Half an ear on the incessant pattering, Winry wondered if the weather was as bad in South City. For Dominic and Paninya's sake, she hoped not. Long journeys at unhealthy hours to make emergency repairs would be bad enough without getting drenched into the bargain.

Stretching, the straw-haired girl stood back and admired her latest project. The intricate mechanism of a replacement forearm lay across the workbench, gears and wires poised to spring to life. The order was perfectly ordinary – a man who'd got his hand mangled by farm machinery – but that didn't mean she couldn't take satisfaction in a job well done. It would need testing and calibrating but it was basically finished. One down, fifteen or so to go.

Usually, she would have charged straight onto the next build, wasting no time in gathering components and tools. But hunger and thirst were making their presence felt in a way that was not easily ignored. So, stomach grumbling, she wandered into the little kitchen and went in search of food.

A hastily constructed sandwich later, she ambled back to the shop floor. The weather was getting to her, she decided. Her enthusiasm had gone AWOL and the unheard-of prospect of an early bed was starting to sound appealing. There was nothing urgent in the book and she couldn't start on Mrs Kite's leg anyway, not until those new bearings were delivered. True, Dominic would be annoyed to know she'd slacked off but there was no reason that he should know. A good night's rest and she could catch up in double quick time.

Zoned out as she was, the first she knew of someone coming into the shop was a reflection glimpsed in an absently set-aside auto-mail panel, the briefest flash of red and black.

Red and black…

Winry whirled, words catching in her throat. The man blinked blue eyes at her, his hand still on the door. Water dripped profusely from his long black coat, now unbuttoned to show parts of a maroon vest.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, voice soft and deep, "Were you expecting someone else?"  
"What? Oh, no, sorry, I…" She nodded and shook at the same time, stopped herself and tried again. "You surprised me."  
"I'm sorry," he repeated, "Force of habit. I was brought up in mortal dread of what would happen if I opened a door noisily. If you're busy…I don't want to interrupt…"  
Grateful that, intentionally or otherwise, he had given her time to recover, Winry shook her head firmly.  
"I'm not busy at all. What can I do for you?"

He smiled meekly, closed the door properly and approached the counter, tugging back his hood. It disgorged a pleasant, slender face topped by curly brown hair that was not quite long enough to tie back.  
"Well…this is going to sound a little odd. I don't actually need auto-mail. What I'm looking for is someone who will make me a pair of gauntlets."  
She took her turn to blink in surprise. He ploughed on.  
"I, err, I don't mean bulky armour though. I need something that will move with my hands. There aren't many armourers about these days so I thought, maybe, I could find an engineer who wasn't too busy and would be willing to humour me."  
His laugh was self-deprecating.

Rubbing her chin, Winry leant against a cabinet.  
"Gauntlets…?"  
"Nothing fancy," he assured her, "Just metal gloves with a thick plate over the back of the hand. But I do need them to move well."  
It couldn't be too hard, could it? Auto-mail hands were basically gauntlets filled with motors. Making them comfortable to wear would be a bit tricky…

Guilty, her eyes slid to the thick ledger in the corner.  
"Ah…when I said I wasn't busy, I was kinda exaggerating. I'd like to help but…well, my boss doesn't really like doing work on anything that isn't essential. I mean, we make auto-mail as a necessity, not for fashion. Not that those gloves would be, I'm sure! It's just…"  
"I get it." He smiled again. "Indulging the whims of a wandering experimenter can't get in the way of replacing someone's leg. Very proper. I'll leave you in peace."  
"Hey, hang on." Through the window, she could see just how bad things had got. "You can't go back out into that!"  
"I don't really have a choice. Besides, I'm already wet…"  
"Nuh-huh."

She swung herself over the counter and held out a hand imperiously.  
"Give me you're coat. I'll hang it up to dry. You can stay here 'till the rain eases a bit. I may not be able to help you with your gauntlets but it'd be inhuman to kick you out into a storm like this. And I know for a fact that there aren't any hotels for at least half a mile."  
He wavered.  
"If you're sure…"  
"Of course I am! Anyway, I could use the company."  
That was true enough. She wasn't sure she wanted to be alone after thinking he'd been…someone else. He seemed nice and it wasn't as if she couldn't defend herself if necessary.

Giving in, the man shrugged off the coat, revealing travelling clothes and sturdy boots. And a loop of silver watch chain at his belt.  
"Urr…there's nothing valuable in this is there?" she inquired as she took the mass of black cloth.  
"Shouldn't be."  
"Right…hey, want some coffee?"

He did (if it wasn't too much trouble) so she found the two cleanest mugs and a couple of fairly comfortable chairs. It was as he reached for his drink that she saw the lines of ink running across his palm and had an excuse to ask.  
"You're an alchemist?"  
Eyes widening, he paused. Then he chuckled and laid his hands out for inspection.  
"I suppose these are a bit of a dead give away."  
Transmutations circles were tattooed over both palms, the right in blue, the left in green.

"Do they, err, do different things?"  
"Yes…this one…um, have you got a bit of scrap metal?"  
Winry fished out an off cut and handed it over. He placed it flat and touched it with his right forefinger. There was a flash of purple. When it had faded, a perfect alchemical diagram had been etched into the steel. This he tapped and with a second flash, this yellow, the scrap reformed into a sculpture of a rose.

The mechanic laughed and clapped.  
"One circle to draw another. Clever! How about the other one?"  
"This?" He flexed his left hand. "This one I use to fly."  
She stared at him.  
"Pardon?"  
"Heh. Sorry. I don't really mean that. It adjusts air pressure. I can use it to shoot myself into the air like a cannonball. It's quite fun, actually. Going up, anyway. Coming down is a bit difficult…"  
"I guess it would be."

There was a silence as they concentrated on their coffee.  
"Um…are you a _state_ alchemist?"  
Now he stared at her.  
"No. What gave you that idea?"  
"Oh, sorry! I just saw your watch chain and thought…"

"This?" Digging in his trouser pocket, he produced a perfectly ordinary watch without any obvious markings on the case. "Just a family heirloom. Funny though. I _am_ considering whether to go to Central to take the exam. The shear volume of knowledge the state alchemists have access to is a pretty good incentive even if, as the Independents are so quick to point out, you get leashed to the military."  
"Would you have a problem with that?"  
"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure. I'm still wavering. The State has greater resources but the Indies offer greater freedom." He shrugged. "My research won't go anywhere until I get the right texts. It's a choice I'm going to have to make sometime."

Looking him up and down, Winry pursed her lips.  
"Do you want some advice from someone who's no right to give it?"  
Intrigued by her sombre tone, he nodded.  
"Sure."  
"You shouldn't sign your life away to the military just for a few books. I…know people who got terribly hurt because they did that. You shouldn't have to kill with your skills and if you join up…"  
She held his gaze for a long while, neither speaking.

It was the alchemist who looked away. He got up and put his hands in his pockets and paced a little.  
"Thank you. You're right. I have no…_desire_ to hurt others. No one should have."  
"Yeah…" Suddenly blushing, she hid behind her hair. "I shouldn't be telling you your business. I don't know anything about you, it's just…" She fiddled with the steel rose. "Wait a minute."

Holding it up, she pointed to his right hand.  
"This is why you want gauntlets, isn't it? So you can draw transmutation circles on them?"  
"Yes!" Laughing, he ran fingers through his hair. "People get a bit annoyed if you carve circles into their possessions so I figured making them in gloves would be better all round. I did try fabric ones but they kept falling apart…"  
"And you need them to be flexible so you can handle things dexterously. I get it."  
"But you still can't help."  
"Uh…"  
"Please, don't worry about it. Hmm. The rain seems to have let up at last."

It had, so Winry dashed into the back to retrieve his coat.  
"You've been very kind," he told her as he put it on, "I feel a bit of a heel for taking advantage of your hospitality without bringing you anything but a distraction…"  
"Well, I'm keeping this!" she answered, twirling the rose, "And…I know! Promise me that when you've found someone who can make those gloves for you, you'll come back and show me how you 'fly'. You don't get to drop_ that_ into the conversation and not show something for it!"  
He put a fist to his heart.  
"Then on my honour, I promise just that."

She held the door for him and as he exited, he turned to her again.  
"And…whoever you thought I was…I hope they come back to you soon."  
Slightly stunned, she mouthed thanks. Then caught his arm.  
"I just realised. I never asked your name."  
"It's Michael," he smiled, "Michael Dorian."  
"I'm Winry."  
"Very nice to meet you."  
With that he moved off, long, loping strides carrying him up the street. Winry watched him go, replaying what he'd said over in her mind. _I hope they come back to you soon…_

"Yeah," she decided, "So do I."

* * *

_A/N: What do you mean, cruelly delaying the resolution of the last two 'cliffhangers'? _:) _And on _my_ honour, I solemnly swear that this blooming rain is going to stop soon!_


	10. Chapter 8: Seeing Is Believing

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

_And I should warn you - there is a heavier than usual concentration of bad language in this one. The situation called for it! _

**Chapter 8: Seeing is Believing**

Edward opened the door.

Edward saw the two people standing on the doorstep.

Edward closed the door.

More precisely, he slammed it and pressed his back against it.  
"I did not just see that. I did not just see that. I _did not just see that_!"  
The doorknocker started up again, loud and insistent.

Ok. Think straight. There was someone at the door. But it couldn't be who he'd thought he'd seen. He must be overtired or imagining things or…

Hey, wait. There'd been another Hughes, another Gracia, another Bradley, hell, even another Armstrong. So logically, there had to be…

Which meant he'd just slammed the door on two complete strangers.

He could just see Al's look of disapproval.

He spun round and lifted the latch again.  
"Fullmetal, what the hell are you –"  
"Sorry! I thought you were –"  
The door came to a juddering halt. The two men stared at each other, one with an eyebrow raised, the other with eyes bulging. Ed's jaw kept moving but no sound came out. Mustang's eyebrow rose higher.

Keeping the door still with his flesh hand, Ed slowly and deliberately pinched his left wrist. Pain shot up the arm. He looked down at the rapidly discolouring skin and let go.  
"Ok. Not a dream."  
"Fullmetal…"  
"I haven't told anyone but Noah that name…"  
"Fullmetal."  
"And Afons…"  
"Ed."  
"No one could have…"  
"Edward."  
"But it's impossible…"  
"BEAN!"

His head jerked up, a vein twitching at his temple. Mustang sighed.  
"Fullmetal, this gap might be wide enough for you to fit through but us normal sized people won't."  
Finally, after a monumental struggle, Ed managed to string some vaguely sensible words together.  
"Fuck me…it really is you, isn't it?"  
"The one and only. Now open this damn door properly and let us in before we start dissolving!"

Dumbly, he obeyed. Mustang and Hawkeye virtually jumped inside. For the second time that day, the hall was full of people soaked to their skins. Having closed the door and rested his head against it for a moment, Ed spun to face the newcomers. Mustang dropped a rucksack into his arms.  
"Oof!"  
"Thanks, Fullmetal. I've been carrying that all day."  
Hawkeye looked at him.  
"What?"  
"Taking advantage of Edward's shock is a little petty."  
Sighing, he took the bag back and positioned it neatly against the wall.  
"It is, isn't it? And exactly what I needed after that journey." His glare was only half-serious. "You have no idea how much trouble we went to in getting here."

"Don't exaggerate." Hawkeye offered her hand to the _still_ gaping Ed. "It's good to see you again."  
He clasped the hand – left-to-left – and felt the cool skin, the calloused fingers, the dampness from the rain…  
"This is real, isn't it?"  
Not waiting for an answer, he let go and advanced on Mustang. Before the man could back away, auto-mail shot out and seized his wrist. As if afraid it would evaporate, the Fullmetal Alchemist ran a finger across the for once un-gloved knuckles. The Flame Alchemist was too astonished to speak.  
"Real…" Ed repeated, releasing his grip and turning his back on them, walking slowly towards the staircase. "You're really here…"

The other two exchanged glances, both wondering if the shock of seeing them was going to prove too much. Then Ed whirled.  
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE?! I TOLD YOU TO SEAL THE GATE, YOU ARROGANT BASTARD!! AND I MEANT FOR FUCKING GOOD!! DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT COULD HAPPEN IF THERE'S A WAY BETWEEN HERE AND HOME?! WEREN'T YOU PAYING ATTENTION WHEN THOSE MANIACS BLEW MOST OF CENTRAL TO BITS?!"

It took all Mustang's self-control not to hide behind Hawkeye. The blonde demon raging and screaming at him from a few meagre feet away was somehow far much more impressive now than it'd grown a few inches and its hair was no longer in something as orderly as a braid. He opened his mouth, trying, slightly desperately, to summon up a pithy comeback.

"Brother?"  
Al appeared at the top of the stairs, in a nightshirt that didn't quite reach past his knees and yawning fit to break his jaw.  
"What's going on? I heard –"  
Not unexpectedly, he stopped short.

His brother's voice had an almost magical effect on Ed. Only-just-metaphorical fangs retracting; he turned and looked up, grinning widely."No, it's not a dream, Al. And if it is, I'm having it too. Can you get the towels out again? Looks like they'll need 'em."  
With a dazed 'uh-huh', the taller Elric retreated.  
"Lieutenant," Ed said, suddenly the model host, "Do you want to go into the kitchen? There's a stove in there that should help you dry off. I'll come and stoke it in a minute."  
"It's Major now," Hawkeye answered quickly, having caught the predatory gleam with which the youth was eyeing Mustang, "And I think we should all go in. We can explain things when we're all comfortable." _That way, I can stop you breaking the brigadier's neck before he can get a word in edgeways._

* * *

"So let me get this straight…"  
The table accommodated them all, soldiers at the end nearest the stove, along with the food and drink the brothers had provided. Ed massaged his neck and continued.  
"This…not-homunculus told you that when the Gate got opened here, it got…what, damaged?"  
"The term he used was 'wounded'," Mustang corrected, "If I followed the analogy right, performing alchemy here, in a world where it shouldn't work, put it under an incredible amount of stress. Doing so again could make it disintegrate."  
"But it's…it's…" Struggling for words, Ed looked imploringly at Al. "How can something like the Gate be _wounded_? It's…"  
"Beyond. Beyond being affected by us," Al completed, "Something so vast we couldn't hurt it if we tried."  
The storyteller shrugged.  
"I'm just repeating what I was told. For what it's worth, these beings apparently can't speak anything but the truth."

"The Truth." The capitals were audible.  
"Hm?"  
"Nothing." Ed waved him on. "And what exactly's supposed to happen if it _does_ disintegrate?"  
"The forces contained within it, be they sentient or otherwise, will be unleashed across both worlds, tearing down everything in their paths. Matter will be reduced to its component atoms. Life will simply be extinguished. Eventually, all that will be left will be dust." He coughed. "That's it pretty much verbatim."

There was an appropriate silence. Then:  
"Oh, good, nothing big."  
Ed swigged down his tea. Hawkeye spoke up.  
"One of Diligence's…colleagues was sent to this side of the Gate to bring you home."  
"How, if using alchemy will cause all this apocalypse stuff?"  
"They didn't say."  
"I assume," Mustang said through a mouthful of bread, "they have some way of getting around that problem. They sent us across without too much trouble."

This had both of the boys leaning closer.  
"How did they do it?"  
"Did you see the Gate?"  
"No." They looked so flabbergasted that he almost smiled. "We didn't see anything. They put us in some sort of trance and we woke up in a town called Colmar."

This was met with identical thoughtful expressions.  
"I wonder…" Ed began, then stopped himself and changed the subject, "So how do we get home?"  
This led on to an explanation concerning Kindness' predicament, Diligence's worries and the mystery man in bandages.  
"We wondered at first," finished Mustang, "I did anyway, if it might be your father."

"No." The answer was quick and final. "Dad's dead."  
The way Edward said it did not invite dispute.

As usual, Hawkeye was the one to put before them the next sensible question.  
"Then who is it?"

* * *

After hours of talking over everything that had happened, discussions about the 'Gate-keepers', repetitious ramblings concerning Diligence's half-cryptic warnings and assertions that neither Elric had ever heard of the nearby complex, they finally gave in to their bodies' demands for rest. Hawkeye took the bedroom, Al a mattress on the landing and the other two, chairs in the kitchen.

It hit Mustang only as, in spite of the snores coming from across the room, his eye closed. Amidst all the prophetic, high-and-mighty, end-of-the-world issues, neither brother had asked for news from home.

* * *

The next morning, Hawkeye and Al rose within minutes of each other. This had something to do with his shifting whilst asleep and being in just the right spot for the bedroom door to clout him on the ear. Between them, they decided it would be best to let their respective charges sleep on and Al offered to show her around the town in aid of fresh groceries.

The sun shone down innocently, as if it had never been away. Evidence of its betrayal remained though, in the form of puddles and an after-rain smell pervading the streets.  
"You both seem well, Alphonse."  
He nodded vigorously.  
"We are. This world has been incredibly kind to us in many ways. We've made some good friends and they've all looked after us."  
"You've been travelling?"  
"Of course – oh! You don't know, do you?"

He told her about Huskisson and the bomb, about the Thule Society and the chase. She listened attentively, noting how quick he was to play up Ed's part in things, how easily he understated his own. _Edward Elric, how the hell could you ever have thought your brother hated you?_  
"I remember the report on Huskisson," she said out loud, "You're sure he didn't survive the trip?"  
"As far as we know, only the bomb came over…oh, I see. You think he might be this other soul?"  
"It's a possibility, isn't it?"  
"Not a very nice one. He was completely insane."

* * *

Ed woke up to find that Mustang was still there and, for a few absurd seconds, wondered if he should be happy or annoyed. When he started thinking more sensibly, the mantra he'd adopted years ago sung out with renewed strength. _Don't get your hopes up. It could all go wrong. Don't get your hopes up. It could all go wrong._ Simultaneously, he got the urge to run around the room whooping and dancing.

There was so much he wanted to ask, to demand, to beg for from the man slumped opposite. That patch, for starters. He'd seen it during his brief trip to 'Shambala' but small talk hadn't been high on the agenda so he still didn't know the details. Then he wanted to know what had happened to everyone, the soldiers, the alchemists, the friends…

But he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. Because he'd already decided that the only way he was going to find all those things out was by asking the people themselves. Yes, it could all go wrong. That was _always_ the case. Yet it did not, it had never meant that he wouldn't do everything in his power to make sure it all went right.

Having deduced that his early-morning thoughts still hadn't broken their habit of being disjointed, he got up. His spine lodged a formal protest and the resultant yelp helped Mustang join him in consciousness.  
"Good grief…" Blearily, said person examined him. "I never thought I'd be happy to wake up in the same room as you, Fullmetal."  
"Feeling's mutual. You wanna get washed first?"  
"Hn? Ah. Yes, thanks."  
"Shame."  
Ed bolted past. Still not quite awake, Mustang only worked out what had happened when the washroom door slammed.

* * *

Al and Hawkeye returned to hear a bellow of "You devious little creep!" and smiled at one another.  
"Good to know they're getting along as well as ever," the major observed dryly.  
"Lets go and make peace and breakfast." The boy frowned. "I expect the second one of those will be the easiest."

It was.

While Mustang tapped his foot impatiently outside the washroom, Ed went through his ablutions as quickly as hysterical laughter would allow and Hawkeye supervised the scrambled eggs, Al slipped into the bedroom to retrieve his notebook and the map. He didn't bother to control the goofy grin that he knew was plastered over his face. It was just like the old days: a mystery to solve with the colonel – no, the _brigadier general_ – Hawkeye there to organise things, brother kicking up a fuss…and when they were done, they would be among friends again. He could almost smell Gracia's cooking, almost see Havoc and the others, almost hear Winry's shriek as she saw the state of Ed's arm!

Distractedly, he heard the back door open. Then something clattered loudly to the kitchen floor.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the ground and skidded round the corner seconds ahead of Mustang.

A veritable tableau greeted them. Hawkeye was by the stove, pistol in hand, poised ready to fire. On the threshold, stock still, were an auburn haired, dark skinned girl and an equally dark man. His hair was greying brown, cut short at the sides, left long at the top. Eyes narrowed, he stared impassively down the barrel.

"Ah."  
The man's gaze flicked to Al and his mouth curved up at the edges.  
"Alphonse," he rumbled in fluent German, "It's good to see you again. Who is this woman and why is she pointing a gun at me?"

* * *

_A/N: It was ridiculously fun to write that opening section. I hope I got the tone right... Anyway, there'll be a bit of a delay before the next part ("All The Familiar Faces") gets written because I'm moving up to my uni digs tomorrow. But don't panic! I won't be stopping here!_


	11. Chapter 9: All The Familiar Faces

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 9: All The Familiar Faces**

"I tell you, it was her!"  
"I'm not doubting what you thought you saw, Luke," the phone purred, "I simply find it hard to believe that she would be quite so careless."  
The spy gritted his teeth.  
"Nevertheless, it was her. I saw her quite clearly, strolling along with beanpole –"  
"Pardon?"  
"Oh, err…" He coughed. "The younger boy."

"I see…"  
The pause stretched out to an uncomfortable length. Luke shuffled his feet.  
"Sir…?"  
"Listen carefully, Luke. I am only going to say this once. Continue watching the children. Keep tracking their every move. If this woman appears again, confirm her identity."  
"And if it is –"  
"_If_ it is, you will inform me."  
"And then –"  
"And then I shall decide on our course of action."  
"O-of course."  
The line went dead.

Luke replaced the handset as if afraid it might bite him.

* * *

"My apologies."  
Hawkeye holstered her gun and heard Al breathe out in relief. 

The man she had been aiming at, the man she had mistaken for Scar, did not look quite so reassured. Now she saw him clearly, there were obvious deviations from the mass murderer's appearance, starting with the complete absence of _a_ scar. The face around eyes that were brown, not red, was free of markings and his hair was darker. He might even have been slightly taller and was certainly a little less muscular.

Al came into the room properly, addressing not-Scar and the girl with him in their own language.  
"That was an unpleasant surprise," Mustang murmured, following to stand by Hawkeye, who nodded.  
"Major, General?" Al gestured. "This is Ivan. If I'd known he was coming, I'd have warned you about…"  
'Ivan' grunted something that made the boy laugh.  
Mustang's eyebrow twitched.  
"Hmm?"  
"'About him looking like a homicidal maniac from our world'," came the translation.  
"He knows that you're…?"  
"Uh huh. And this is Noah."

The girl walked hesitantly forward.  
"You're…" Wide-eyed, she looked from one soldier to the other. "You're…Hawkeye. And you're…the bastard Colonel but…but _how_?" Abruptly realising what she'd said, she blushed profusely. "I-I'm…I didn't mean…"  
"It's alright, Noah," Al reassured, explaining, "Noah's a clairvoyant, sir, and she learnt about home by reading mine and brother's minds, so…well, you know what he's like…"

"Who's like what?"  
The group turned to find Ed towelling down his hair.  
"Fullmetal, I may not have told you this before," said the former-colonel, primly, "but my parents were quite happily married when I was born."  
The other man blinked.  
"Huh?"

"Excuse me?"  
Noah came nearer, still hesitant. Hawkeye thought she had the expression of someone in the desert spotting an oasis and praying that it wouldn't prove to be a mirage.  
"How can you…be here…how…?"  
As he unfailingly did in the presence of pretty females, Mustang put on his most self-assured smile.  
"I'm afraid it's rather a long story…"

* * *

"That…_beast_!"  
The venom in Helen's voice made Anna look at her sharply. The younger nurse nearly slammed the door behind her.  
"Decorum, my dear."  
"Drat decorum! That monster, he…he…urgh!"  
"Who?"  
"The so-called Marquis!"  
"He struck me as a fairly respectable man."  
"I'm sure! You aren't a 'delightful young thing'! Or a 'charming little creature'! The way he looked at me…horrid, lecherous…" 

"Jameson, control yourself!" Graves swept in with galleon stateliness. "I sincerely doubt the entire country wishes to know your complaints about the security guards."  
"But –"  
"Enough! Go and replace the Patient's bandages. I've finished today's tests."  
"I – ah…yes, doctor."

Smothering her annoyance as best she could, Helen went through to the infirmary proper. It was a long room, high, arched windows letting light onto sterile white walls. The equipment arrayed along its length was all state of the art, so much so that she had no idea what half of it was for. The single bed stood roughly two thirds of the way in.

"Hello there."  
The Patient groaned and tried to lift himself.  
"No, no!" she admonished softly, "You'll hurt yourself."  
As she had in the car, she caught his hand. The skin on the fingers was still red and raw but, when she leant closer, she saw that in parts it was beginning to regain some semblance of healthiness.  
"This is looking so much better!"  
He made an affirmative sound and, for a moment, she thought his mouth folded into a grin.

"He has made remarkable progress since I last had chance to observe him."  
Startled, Helen let go. Mr Chambers sat in a chair a short distance away, previously hidden from view by a cupboard, his hands neatly folded in his lap.  
"Which was," he continued, "admittedly some while ago. Still, given the extent of the injuries… He appears most comfortable in your company, Sister Jameson."  
She lowered her eyes.  
"I have been caring for him for so long…and I knew him a little…from before…"  
"Of course… Thomas mentioned that. It is good that you have been able to assist with his recovery."

"It was the least I could do." She paused, nervously. "Mr Chambers, sir…"  
"Yes?"  
"The Marquis…he…"  
"Is a soldier. Consequently, his manner is often uncouth. If he has offended you, I shall reprimand him."  
"Ah…yes, thank you…"  
"You are welcome." He rose. "I shall leave you to your work. Good day."  
Apparently considering this a suitable conclusion to their discourse, he walked away, path arrow straight.

"A _soldier_?"  
Helen shook her head, disbelievingly. Moving to a table, she picked up the fresh bandages and in doing so, happened to glance at the tiled floor.  
"What on earth…?"  
Setting the coils of white fabric aside, she knelt and investigated. The action left her fingers coated in blue dust.  
"Chalk…?"  
All at once acutely aware of having asked three rhetorical questions in a row, she gave a puzzled frown and stood back up.  
"The more I see of this place," she told the Patient, "the more peculiar it seems."

* * *

Noah's stare was starting to unnerve Hawkeye just a little. 

The brothers had surrendered their chairs to the Roma and were perched on the counter by the sink, helping Mustang describe the situation and translating for Ivan, who would occasionally grind out questions. His companion remained quiet, apparently listening intently. Yet all the while, her wide, almond-shaped eyes were flicking back and forth, almost hungrily. Not a hunger for food, since her breakfast sat untouched before her, but the longing for _something_ was obvious.

Hearing the exposition reach a suitable finally, the Major spoke up.  
"When Alphonse said you read minds…was he being serious?"  
The eyes stopped moving.  
"Yes…" Noah gave an imperceptible nod, moistening her lips. "Yes, he was."  
Hawkeye hesitated.  
"Psychic abilities…they're _real_ here?"  
"Apparently," Ed said, folding his hands behind his head, "Not common but Noah's the real deal. Show 'em."  
This last, said with a shrug, was directed at the girl in question.

She offered a hand.  
"I need to touch someone to read them," was the response to a pair of baffled looks.  
Before Mustang could move, Hawkeye's arm shot across the table. The instant their skin touched, Noah's eyes unfocused, losing their brightness to something new and strange.  
"Do you need me to concentrate on something?"  
"No…no. Your memories are very precise. Ordered. Easy to touch." After a few more seconds, she relaxed her grip. "I…perhaps you should ask me questions about…"  
"Myself. I see." Hawkeye considered. "What was my mother's name?"  
Noah concentrated.  
"Aneliese. She was tall and very beautiful. You used to watch her move about your house and wonder how anyone could be so graceful." She spoke reverently, clearly well aware of the sensitivity of the matter. "You remember her very clearly."

There was a pause.  
"Well?" Al prompted, "Is she right?"  
"Yes." Hawkeye's amazement was plain. "About all of it… That's…amazing."  
Patting Noah on the shoulder, Ivan growled at the Elrics.  
"Now we've established everyone's credentials," relayed Ed, "what exactly are we planning on doing next?"  
"The logical thing," said Mustang, "would be to investigate what we saw outside town. Find out what those buildings are, who runs them, whether they happen to have an interest in people from other worlds…"  
Ivan spoke again, this time directly to Ed.  
"Hang on, matchstick. We're forgetting something."

He heaved a battered old trunk out from under the table and opened it to show them all what lay inside.  
"We still have to deal with this thing."  
Mustang peered down at the ruined sphere.  
"What is it?"  
"One of the most dangerous weapons ever built."  
It was said so nonchalantly that a couple of seconds passed before he jerked backwards.

"Fullmetal," he said when he had regained his composure, "What the hell have you been doing while you were out of my sight?"  
"Alphonse explained it to me, Edward," interrupted Hawkeye, smoothly, "and I think the simplest solution would be to take it home with us. You can destroy it there far more effectively than you could here."  
"Heh. Yeah…course…" His grin was sheepish. "I must have gotten used to doing things the hard way. I never thought of that."

* * *

"Cain."  
The radio operator nearly jumped out of his chair as the Marquis appeared beside him.  
"Sir!"  
"Have Matthew, John or Daniel reported in today?"  
"Uh…" He shuffled the papers on the desk. "Matthew reported a couple of hours ago. He and Abraham are still in Munich and have found nothing new. Daniel contacted me an hour later from Strasbourg. Jonah located someone who might have been one of Falconer's contacts. U-unfortunately the man killed himself before he could be detained."  
"A pity. And John?"  
"N-nothing as yet. B-but he and Moses are still on the move so they may not have been able to –"  
The Marquis cut him off with a wave.  
"Don't fret, Cain, I'm not about to punish you for another's tardiness." 

He strode from the room and swept down the corridor outside, pausing only when a bulky, tanned man fell into step behind him.  
"Solomon."  
The other gave no answer, simply followed in respectful silence. Eventually, it was the Marquis who started talking.  
"I simply cannot see her being so careless as to allow herself to be seen in public with the children. She knows we are watching them."  
"Perhaps she intends to warn them." Solomon's voice was suitably gravely.  
"That would make sense…but so brazenly?"  
"Have you told Chambers?"  
"Not yet. Out patron is too busy crooning over his new pet. Besides I know what his answer will be. _Wait and see_."  
"That may not be so. If she told them what we intend…"

Sighing, the Marquis rubbed at his lapel.  
"True enough. But I doubt such an obvious problem will trouble him."  
"Nevertheless…"  
"I know. I will try to convince him that your counsel is as wise as we both know it is." He sighed again. "Not that I hold out much hope. We signed away our right to question his wisdom."

They turned into a side passage and he completed the thought in a whisper.  
"Along with our souls."

* * *

"According to Frau Kreif at the bakery, it's some sort of hospital," Al reported, "but she didn't know who runs it."  
"No one I spoke to had any better idea than that," agreed Ed.  
Surprisingly, to Mustang at least, they had proved to be equally effective at charming information out of people. He would have expected Al, with his wide-eyed gentleness, to be able to get stones to talk to him but _Fullmetal_? Threatening and cajoling, yes. Charming, no. 

_We all change_, he thought, tracing the contours on the map, _all grow up._  
Out loud, he offered his own information.  
"That tallies with what the nurse on the train said. An 'institute', she called it."  
"There were guardhouses by the perimeter fence," said Hawkeye, "but I don't suppose that's anything out of the ordinary. Then again, visibility was very poor…"  
"Which means getting a second look at the place is essential."

"Right." Ed clapped and pressed his knuckles against the table. "We'll do it this evening. The weather's good now, which means we'll be able to see everything clearly."  
"Won't the ground be waterlogged?" Noah asked.  
"It'll have the rest of the day to dry out. We've no idea if we have the time to wait around on this, so we have to assume we don't."  
"Careful, Fullmetal," Mustang drawled, "You're sounding almost professional." More seriously, he added, "This copse, here. It overlooks the area and would act as decent cover."  
Ed glared at him but eventually agreed. Ivan, who seemed to be taking the whole thing in the manner of an indulgent uncle, inquired who was actually going to go and play spy.

Four voices answered 'Me' at exactly the same time. Ed, Al, Mustang and Hawkeye looked at each other.  
"You're staying here, Al," Ed said firmly, cutting him off as he tried to protest, "That staff's too big to sneak about with and I'm not letting you come unarmed."  
"You're going then?" The response was almost accusingly.  
"Definitely."  
Mustang decided to take charge.  
"Fullmetal, you and I will scout out the land."  
"_You_?"  
"Yes, me. I'd rather that Hawkeye was the one in reserve, ready to pull us out of trouble. And before you say it, I am perfectly capable of handling myself without alchemy."  
"I'll station myself here, at the base of this rise," the sharpshooter stated, "We'll need a signal for trouble."

"A whistle?" Al suggested, digging in a drawer, "Here."  
He handed a metal tube to Mustang.  
"Perfect." The brigadier tucked it inside his jacket. "Let's just hope I won't have to use it."

* * *

"Marquis."  
Chambers did not look up.  
"My men report that a woman resembling Falconer has been seen conversing with the children."  
"That has ceased to be a concern." The spectacles glinted in the dim light. "I want you to recall your men."  
Surprised to receive such a blunt instruction, the Marquis' eyes narrowed.  
"For what reason?"  
"Because that is what I am telling you to do."  
Surprise turned to annoyance.  
"We still haven't dealt with her –" 

"I told you. That no longer matters." Chambers' head lifted. "Our inactivity is at an end."  
The soldier's lips curved.  
"So you've finally decided that it's time to collect them?"  
"That is unnecessary. Hohenhiem's children will present themselves to us. We simply have to await them with open arms."

* * *

_A/N: Did that all seem too rushed? I figure none of the characters invovled are the types to wait around but I have a feeling I might be being a bit too sketchy on detail... [Update Spelling of 'Matthew' corrected!  
_


	12. Chapter 10: Double, Double

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 10: Double, Double**

She was tired. Dead tired, if you wanted a more accurate description. And stopping and resting were simply not options. But she was not going to let that make her careless. She couldn't afford to. So instead, she focused on pushing through the tangled weeds.

* * *

"Someone should invent a map that gets updated as the grass grows," Ed grumbled.  
The copse was proving to be excellent cover. Rapid retreats were, however, not looking like a particularly viable option.  
"Welcome to military operations," Mustang retorted, ducking under a branch, "When the intel's half-right, it's a good day."

Afternoon was waning into evening, making the landscape look old and worn. On its west facing vantage point, the cluster of trees received the full benefit of the twilight. Everything within was now attractively dappled. The air felt warm but despite having had a full twelve hours to attempt the feat, the ground was still not completely dry. This it shared with the unexpectedly dense undergrowth and the two men frequently cringed as icy water landed down the back of their necks.

"Half-right's good?"  
"It is compared to 'catastrophically inaccurate." He stopped. "Ah ha. This looks good."  
The vegetation had thinned, affording them a clearer downhill view. The complex squatted in the middle of farmland, a dirty grey blotch on an otherwise green plane. It was laid out along the lines of a five-pointed star, grey stone buildings running parallel to gravel paths. From a distance, they all appeared to be identical, two storey affairs with sloping roofs.

Ed took out a pair of binoculars.  
"Wish the damn sun were pointing the other way. These are gonna glint…"  
"We'll have to risk it."  
"Right." He put them to his eyes. "Let's see…"  
"That's a very bad pun, Fullmetal."  
"Shudup. I got…one gate, guard huts…there're men walking the perimeter…no rifles though…that looks like a garage…hmm…a lot of guys in white coats wandering about."  
"Doctors?"  
"No, _milkmen_. How the hell should I know?"

Mustang chuckled. Ed shot him a glare.  
"What're you snickering at?"  
"You. Can you see any way of getting in undetected?"  
"Not unless you can suddenly become invisible. There's no cover near the fence on either side. If it were pitch-black, you might be able to do it –" The blonde winced as a particularly large drop of water plunged past his collar. "Urgh. Here. You look."

"Why, thank you." The older man took the spyglasses. "Curious layout, don't you think?"  
"Mmm."  
"A pentagram."  
"I know what it is."  
"Not in a circle though. It's not another giant, disguised array. Not that there'd be much point in it being one..."

"You'd be surprised how many people'd be willing to try anyway," Ed answered darkly and did his best to find cover that would not give him impromptu showers.

* * *

It had taken her days to completely lose the Marquis' dogs. They were persistent, she had to give them that. Still, she doubted they would expect the utter insanity of returning to the 'scene of the crime'. That was, after all, what it was. But necessity often bred insanity.

By sheer chance, she had arrived in time to see the older Elric leaving his house and heading off with friends. The group's direction had aroused her suspicions at once. She just hoped she would be able to stop him presenting himself to Chambers in gift-wrapping.

* * *

The dirt track was no site of outstanding natural beauty but it did have the advantage of a good view of both road and hill. Hawkeye, back against a fence post, cast an apparently idle glance at the silhouette of the copse. Ivan, sitting atop said fence, stifled a yawn.

His insisting on coming as well had been surprising but welcome. While standing solitary guard was never a problem for someone with her patience, basic common sense told Hawkeye that two people were going to stand a greater chance of extracting Fullmetal and Flame from trouble than one alone. Admittedly, she had yet to see him fight but he seemed confident enough with the long knives hanging from his belt.

She wished she could ask him about the brothers. True, for once she was fairly certain that neither of them was holding anything back for fear of worrying anyone. But Hawkeye lived her life according to several very strict philosophies, including 'when you've double checked, check again' and 'when you've got a second opinion, get a third'. They had spent two years – four in Ed's case – cut off from everything they had ever known. That alone meant concern for them was justifiable.

A goose honked overhead. In the distance, a plume of off-white smoke announced the departure of a train. Dusk was beginning to set in properly. The shadows had lengthened picturesquely. It would be a pleasant night.

Hawkeye regarded it all with the utmost suspicion and fingered one of her pistols. Ivan yawned again.

* * *

She saw him a full two minutes before he saw her. That had given her time to observe the youth she intended to save.

The way he moved indicated he was no stranger to having to operate stealthily. What she could guess of his build reminded her a little of an acrobat she had once known – compact but unusually powerful. His clothes were dark and nondescript, perfect for sneaking about. And he'd made sure that his long, bright hair was tucked out of the way beneath a woollen cap.

She approved. If he was not a professional, he was most certainly a gifted amateur.

* * *

Skirting the very edge of the copse, Ed wrinkled his nose. He and Mustang had separated to see what different angles might show them and 'not much' was looking increasingly likely to be the outcome. Without any obvious clues such as eldritch glows or clouds of odd-coloured smoke, finding out what was going on in the complex was up-sheer-drop work.  
"Even the guards don't look suspicious," he breathed, squinting down the binoculars, "Come on, give me something here!"  
The possibility that it might be exactly what it purported to be, an innocent private hospital, reared its head. It could be, couldn't it? There could be nothing strange happening at all. Real life was like that.

Edward Elric's life, however, seldom was.

Which was why when he slid backwards, stood up, turned around and stretched, he did not react with the amount of shock a normal person might have.

A woman was standing a few feet away, not making a sound. She presumably was extremely good at not making a sound because he hadn't heard the slightest hint of her approach. Her clothes were dark, like his, blending in with the surroundings. A hood hid her hair and a scarf hung around her neck, presumably to conceal her face, which was now disclosed, pale against the rest.

What her presence had not done, that face did. As a result, she got the first word in.  
"Mr Elric." She spoke quietly but fiercely. "You must leave here _now_."  
Exactly fifteen seconds passed.  
"_Hawkeye_?"  
"Pardon?" The woman frowned, then shook her head. "My name is Elizabeth Falconer. I can't explain everything immediately but it is imperative that we remove ourselves from here at once."

Various 'what?'s and 'why?'s presented themselves. However, before any could be voiced, Mustang emerged from the foliage to Ed's right.  
"So much for that…err…Fullmetal…?"  
Falconer couldn't have seen more than the man's profile, since he was looking at her from the corner of his good eye, and only that for an instant. She reacted as if he were the most horrifying thing imaginable.

"Y-you?!" was about all she managed to gasp before spinning and vanishing into the trees.  
"Hey, wait!" Ed bellowed, launching himself into pursuit.  
"Both of you wait!" demanded Mustang, following suit.

They ran out of copse long before they were anywhere near her. The gentle, grassy incline presented itself in place of the trees. The gentle, grassy slope on the opposite side of the hill from where Hawkeye and Ivan were waiting. The gentle, grassy slope lacking in any cover beyond a few vaguely ambitious bushes.

The gentle, grassy slope occupied by a large number of men in black coats.

Falconer had clearly been expecting them because she did not stop. As Mustang and Ed skidded to a halt, she darted around the nearest of the apparitions, evading their lunges. Two moved to block her path. Her hand lashed out, something gleaming in its grip. The men fell back, one with a long gash in his sleeve. The other raised a pistol.  
"No!"  
Shouting, Ed tried to jump the gunman. Someone huge stepped in the way and flung him back the way he'd come. He hit the ground and rolled over just as shots rang out.

"They missed," Mustang said curtly as he helped him stand up, "We might not be so lucky."  
Defining their probably-about-to-be assailants as men in black coats was a description that stood up to closer scrutiny. They wore the kind of jackets a Christian priest might, high collared, featureless and indeed, completely black. Clearly though, they were not of the clerical persuasion. The sabres and handguns made that quite obvious, as did the military boots.  
"Can we help you, gentlemen?"  
"I don't think we can, Mustang."  
Ed's left hand found the catch on his auto-mail. _Sprang_. The spring blade shot out from his right sleeve. Sighing, Mustang reached into his pocket.  
"I really don't think upsetting these people would be a terribly good id – urg!"

_Please let me not have just heard that. It sounded exactly like someone hitting the bastard on the back of the head._ There was a soft thud as a body slumped and fell past Ed. His eyes slid to the side. _Oh hell._

The instinct to whip around and confront whoever was there proved unnecessary. Silent footsteps carried the perpetrator into full view.  
"I'd have to agree. Upsetting us would be an incredibly stupid idea."  
For the second time in about as many minutes, he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Or, for that matter, seeing.

Roy Mustang had just been knocked out by…Roy Mustang. In contravention of all logic and rationality, the man who had been his guardian tormentor, the man who'd quipped and jabbed like there was no tomorrow, the womanising, sarcastic, ambitious, ever-cunning Flame Alchemist stood there, free of scaring, sans eye-patch, mouth set in that oh-so familiar smirk.

It was as though the past had just come up and punched the present in the face. Literarily.

_Another Hughes, another Gracia_, reminded a singsong voice in his head.

That jerked him back to thinking straight and, with his brain working properly, he was able to notice more about this other Mustang than his face. For example, he was wearing the same uniform as the gunmen, with the jacket open to display a white silk shirt, and while the rest of their hands were bare, his were covered by gloves of the same material. And his sabre was unsheathed, held loosely at his side.

"Who the hell are you?"  
Base belligerence. That always worked as a fallback plan. Almost always. The smirk did not waver.  
"Strangely enough, I don't feel the least bit inclined to answer that question." He lifted the sabre a faction of an inch. "All the same, I must insist that you accompany us back to our residence. My employer would like a word."  
Well, that made things simpler. Ed struck a defensive pose.  
"Thanks, but I think I'll pass on that."  
"Pity."

He stuck as fast as a snake. It was all Ed could do to get his own blade in the sabre's path. The shock of the blow ran straight up into his shoulder.  
"Oof! Let me guess: you _haven't_ spent most of your career sitting behind a desk."  
Other-Mustang didn't answer, just smirked a bit wider, bounced back onto his heels and sent the sword flashing towards his side. Again, he blocked it. Just.

They kept up the 'dance' for almost a minute. The lightning thrusts became quicker and quicker, until Ed was not so much countering as retreating. Abruptly, everything was still again, the sabre pressing against the knife, auto-mail straining against muscle. Had the prosthesis been functioning at full power and had the angle been favourable, Ed would have been able to force his way free of the deadlock. But neither was the case and it was a struggle to prevent himself from being decapitated. Other-Mustang hadn't so much as broken a sweat.

His eyes locked with Ed's, the black irises as cold as lumps of jet.  
"You're no swordsman," he purred, "You fight like a wrestler: all power, no grace."  
Then he snatched the sabre away. Thrown completely off balance, Ed stumbled. There was a whirr of black cloth. He saw the hilt rushing towards him and could do nothing about it.

Darkness engulfed the world and the last thing he felt was his feet leaving the ground.

* * *

Falconer felt the air sing as bullets ripped through it inches from her head. She ignored them. If you started to think about how close you had just come to dying, you slowed down and then you _would_ die. 

There were people pounding after her, she could hear that. She should have known she'd be too late. In all honesty, she probably had. No. She definitely had. What she had not known was how badly seeing _him_ again would affect her.

There were no more bullets now, just thumping feet and ragged breath. Damn it, she couldn't tell how many were after her, she had no idea where to run except back to the town, where she knew for certain more of them were lurking, there was no cover, Josef wasn't here to help her this time, she was exhausted, alone, unarmed save for her knives…

The ground lurched.

Ridiculously, the only thing she could think as she fell was 'Fiddlesticks'.

Someone's arms looped around her and she stopped.

She looked up.

Impossibly, her saviour seemed to have a mirror for a face.

* * *

_A/N: Hands up who saw that one coming..._

_ Yep, it's contrived, yep it's unoriginal but it's blooming fun! And there are many more 'shocking' revelations to come...  
_


	13. Chapter 11: A Wounded Falcon

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 11: A Wounded Falcon**

After a day and a half of upheaval, the kitchen was now remarkably peaceful. Al sat reading, his attention completely focused on the heavy book before him, the drink he had made as he resigned himself to a long wait forgotten. Noah sat watching.

She enjoyed seeing the brothers reading. It was one of things she had missed most while they had been apart. When the two of them had their noses stuck in the textbooks, they became calm and quiet, all their worries falling away as they immersed themselves in pure knowledge. Edward would become still for once, only his eyes moving as they drank in the words and Alphonse…

The similarity hurt sometimes. From the right angle, the boy from another world looked identical to the gentle rocket engineer who had died cradled in her arms. That would be a memory she took to her grave, of stumbling down into the factory to find Afons sprawled by the equipment bank, staring up at the storm of energies above. There had been a smile on his face, a real, genuine smile free of the pain of illness. The blue of his eyes was glazing over as she lifted his head but he had not been dead. He had blinked once, slowly, and whispered, more to God than to her.  
"Keep him safe."  
Then she had felt his life leave. She had never before been close enough to touch a dying person and the wrench had been almost unbearable. And no matter how unalike they grew, she knew she would forever be seeing him in the face of his doppelganger.

And worse than that by far, she knew Edward would do the same. He would despise himself for doing so, would reject the 'sullying' of his love for his brother yet it the spectre would always be there. Just as her betrayal of him would be. The thought was unbidden but not unexpected and it opened a vast, black abyss. What she had done, the invasion of his mind, the theft of his secrets…that would never, ever be forgiven, not after two years, not after two hundred. How could it be?

"Brother doesn't hate you, Noah."  
Pulled from her reverie, she jumped. Al laid his book down.  
"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. But I know that look and it isn't healthy."  
"Look?" she asked, confused.  
He smiled sadly.  
"It's the same one brother gets when he thinks about the people who've been hurt around him. And I have to tell him the same thing. _He doesn't hate you_."

She looked down at her feet.  
"How can he not? You're kind, Alphonse, one of the kindest people I've ever met. You're willing to forgive anything. But I _deserve_ to be hated for what I did."  
"But he still doesn't." The boy ran a hand through his hair. "Brother…he… He _can't_ hate like other people do. He gets angry, he curses and he rages but…in the end, the only person he really, truly ends up _hating_ is himself. I think…he hated dad…and the homunculi…and maybe the Colonel as well…but that wasn't…" He searched for the right words. "When it comes down to it, brother is determined to carry the worries of the world on his shoulders and he refuses to acknowledge that that's impossible. He's the genius, he's the brilliant one, so he's the one who's got to solve the problems. And if things go wrong, if people are hurt, then that's _got to be his fault as well_."

Al shook his head.  
"He's a complete idiot, of course, but that's the way he is. And if you asked him, he'd be the one who'd end up apologising to you, not the other way around."  
Noah stared at him, unable to respond no matter how much she wanted to.

A pounding on the back door saved her from an uncomfortable silence. _Perfect timing, universe_, Al thought sarcastically, _Just when I'm trying to help someone who's been loathing herself for as long as I've known her…_  
He got up and strode over, reaching for his staff as he went. Things were afoot, which meant taking chances would be a very bad idea.

Three people tumbled into the room and the mental alarm bells went off at full volume. _Wrong number_.  
"Shut the door! Quickly!" Hawkeye ordered, sounding like she'd run all the way back.  
Liking the look of things even less, Al obeyed. Noah shot to her feet.  
"What happened? Where's Edward?"  
"Captured, most likely," said Hawkeye, catching her breath.

Hang on.

Al checked. Hawkeye was leaning against the counter, irritably checking her guns. He turned. Hawkeye was also being supported by Ivan and wearing very worn travelling clothes.

O…kay…

"This is going to be complicated, isn't it?"

* * *

"My given name," the Hawkeye-duplicate said, sipping at her tea, "is Elizabeth Anne Falconer. At this stage, I rather think any aliases have lost their point. Might I ask…?"  
She looked pointedly at her double.  
"Mine is Riza Hawkeye," the major answered, "and here, that might as well _be_ an alias. I realise how strange my appearance must seem but…"  
Falconer started chuckling.  
"Believe you me, 'Riza': there is very little that seems strange to me any more." 

"Why were these people trying to kill you?" Al demanded, having listened, wide-eyed, as Hawkeye and Ivan described having to fight off two swordsmen intent on taking the other woman's life, "And what do they want with brother and the col – the Brigadier General?"  
There was a pause as Falconer swung her gaze across the four of them. It was as piercing as any Hawkeye could have offered.  
"That, Mr Elric, is as you pointed out earlier, complicated. How sturdy are the doors in this house?"  
"Um…quite sturdy. Why? And how did you know my name?"  
"The latter is part of the answer to your first questions. I ask about the doors because it is more than likely someone will be along shortly to break them down."

She put aside her drink and laced her fingers together."I am, not to put too fine a point on it, a spy, employed by the British Government to extract information about His Majesty's enemies via any means necessary. I won't trouble you with the circumstances that led a 'mere woman' into such a profession but I would like to think I am reasonably competent at what I do. Hence why those men decided to cut short my allotted four score and ten."  
"Who were they?"  
"Another complicated question. They call themselves the Templars, but they have as much in common with that holy order as I do with the pope. Possibly less. They are mercenaries available to the highest bidder and capable of practically anything, be it espionage, sabotage, kidnap, extortion, assassination or revolution. They're a long established institution, with a fine set of traditions. Each member takes a Biblical name as his own, save for the leader because, presumably, no one has ever had the gall to call themselves Jehovah. Currently, they are led by a man who goes by the name the _Marquis de L'enfer_. The Marquis of Hell."

She almost shuddered, her expression one of absolute hatred.  
"He has, or had, four major lieutenants – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – a chief interrogator, Adam, two spymasters, Paul and Daniel, and a second in command, Solomon. Below them serve an assortment of very well trained criminals who would slit your throat as soon as look at you and be able to do it in a number of very inventive ways."

"Sounds a…worrying organisation to have around," Hawkeye observed, frowning as most of the implications in the names went over her head.  
"It is. My superiors first became aware of them during the war. The Kaiser employed them to sow chaos behind the lines and, eventually, on the British mainland. Fortunately, we were able to entice Adam to abandon his calling and he sold them out. We cornered them in a quaint little town in Essex and dismantled their operation most effectively. _Un_fortunately, we failed to detain the Marquis and his inner circle. Paul and Mark were killed but the rest escaped."  
"How?"  
That got a wry grin.  
"Simple. They burnt the town to the ground and slipped away in the confusion. Abandoned a good chunk of their equipment and left themselves on the run but on the whole, I'd say they got the better half of the deal."

Her audience absorbed the information. Noah summarised for Ivan's sake and Al asked how it brought them to the south of Germany and people shooting at her. The grin got wryer.  
"Well, now. Thus begins the interesting part of the narrative. The Templars disappeared for the rest of the war. When we next got wind of them, it was in connection to one Benedict Chambers. I doubt you move in the right circles for that name to mean anything but if you did, it would mean a great deal. He is extremely wealthy, to the point where that has ceased to be an adequate description of his affairs. Even we aren't quite sure where it all came from and, to be frank, I personally would rather not know. One thing we _were_ sure of was that employing a band of mercenaries was very odd behaviour for a businessman like him."

She wetted her throat before continuing.  
"One thing led to another and I was assigned to investigate in person. It helped that I had a basic understanding of the occult courtesy of my father. Chambers is obsessed with that sort of thing. A few months of intense study later, I presented myself to him as an expert on the unusual. He hired me virtually on the spot. With hindsight, it's very obvious what was going on. Then, it simply seemed as though I'd successfully taken advantage of an enemy's weak point." Her smile vanished. "For almost a year, I worked in London, cataloguing and analysing arcane texts. I saw enough of Chambers to learn that he was indeed dealing with the Templars. The curious thing was, he didn't seem to be using them to _do_ anything. Except move them about so often that arresting them quickly became impossible. Then…then he found a dragon."

Al sat bolt upright.  
"Dragon? You don't…you can't mean…_Envy_?"  
Falconer looked surprised.  
"Envy? Yes…I remember him calling it that once. You know about it?"  
"From my brother. It was something from…err… How do_ you_ know about him?"

The spy stared into her mug."I can't tell you how Chambers found it. Up until then…I suppose…I'd been working on the assumption that the man was simply an eccentric criminal. I never believed in magic. My father did, God rest his soul, but I preferred real, solid life. What I saw that day… It was here, in Germany, a few months before the attempted revolution. Chambers shipped us out to a castle in the middle of nowhere. A few of the Templars were there, the Marquis was… But only Chambers, his secretary Bell, and myself went inside. It was in one of the towers, coiled round and round on itself. It was…impossible. A serpent as big as a whale. Scales like dustbin lids. But far faster than a beast of that size has any right to be. Bell…it…it ate him. It would have eaten me as well, I think, but Chambers…while it was distracted, he…touched it. Just…_touched it_. And it stopped. Just like that. Laid down as if it were going to sleep!"

The edge of hysteria in her words made Hawkeye's insides twist. To hear _her_ voice speaking in such an alien manner was bad enough without the addition of barely suppressed panic. Sympathy came to Al more easily. No matter how unflappable Falconer's counterpart was, he knew that they were looking at someone completely different trying to deal with things far outside the boundaries of her understanding.  
"Go easy," he said kindly, "You're telling us an awful lot very quickly…"  
"Oh, don't worry about me, please. I may be on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion and twenty-four months worth of insanity but I can struggle on. Chambers held his hand there for a few minutes, in some sort of trance and after that…we simply walked away.

"For months, I almost convinced myself that it had been a dream, that I'd hallucinated it all. I never reported it to London. They'd have thought I was insane. I did. Chambers kept the Templars closer afterwards. I saw the Marquis almost daily. And I did my duty. I got close to him, trying to dig out information without him suspecting. It wasn't hard and it kept my mind off what I'd witnessed. It worked. It worked very, very well. The things I…that he…" She couldn't prevent the shudder this time and it shook her whole body. "I did my duty. I stayed close. My superiors were happy. I think they were readying themselves to close the operation and arrest everyone in sight…"  
"But they didn't?"  
"No. Six months ago, there was…an incident at a hospital Chambers often visited. And it changed everything. Suddenly, he shipped his staff, Templars and all, right across Europe, splitting them up to collect objects and people and books. And there were…_things_ that kept happening around him. It made no sense but it…terrified me. He didn't explain, not to me. The Marquis knew…knows…he made that clear! In the end…my own ignorance and…my _fear_…became too much. I…ran."

It took a deep breath to steady her enough to continue.  
"There was a man in Strasbourg who helped me get away. I left with little more than the clothes I was wearing. And that night…Chambers…it was like he'd stepped out of a wall… He appeared as I was in the middle of slipping away. Just…stood there and looked at me. All at once, I knew he'd…knew he'd known all along…why I was there…he'd known and he hadn't cared… He said…he said, 'Go or stay. It makes no difference to me now. But you do not know what you are turning your back upon.' And he left me there. And…and I ran."

Falconer fell silent, her emotions clearly too great to allow her to go on. With all his heart, Al wished he could offer her some comfort. But there was still more he had to know."What about us? Where do brother and I come into it?"  
"In all honesty," came the hushed reply, "I'm not sure. Your names, your father's name…they were always there. In the files and the records, in the discussions… Chambers has been watching you for a long time. You're important to him. He wants…_needs_ you for something… I don't know what. I never, ever knew what all that work, all the planning, all the effort was actually _for_."

Suddenly, her head snapped up, face a mask of helplessness.  
"But…whatever…whatever it is, whatever he's planning… I escaped the Marquis' dogs, I searched for you myself…I came to try and warn you… It's nothing good or right or true. It can't be. It _can't_ be. It's something…something terrible…something that involves monsters and demons and magic and…and things…powers…that can't…_that shouldn't be real_!"

* * *

_A/N: Hmm...not too sure about this one...tell me what you think. It's basically an exposition chapter and I promise that Falconer won't spend the entire story collapsing into hysterics. The poor woman _has _spent several months as a fugative and really needs a good night's rest... And sorry for psycho analysing Ed yet again... Al seems to be spending most of his time explaining his brother to other people... Hmm..._

_And for those of you keeping count, no one has yet correctly guessed the identity of the mysterious Patient..._


	14. Chapter 12: Two By Two

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 12: Two By Two**

There was a commotion in the entrance hall.

Helen paused mid step, curious enough to be distracted from her errand. A crowd of gentlemen in black, almost priestly coats were busy manhandling two stretchers across the threshold. Strangely, the men were wearing old-fashioned military sabres, the sort she usually associated with ceremonial army uniforms.

On the verge of moving to get a closer look, she noticed who was overseeing the manoeuvres and immediately stopped.

Her first encounter – and if she had anything to do about it, her last – had been in an office designed so that the occupant remained in the shadows while the visitor was pinned in an uncomfortable light. Nevertheless, there was no mistaking the monster, what with his ivory skin and superior smirk. He _exuded_ arrogance.

Yet now she could see him clearly, she experienced an odd twinge of déjà vu. Hadn't she seen the face somewhere before coming here…? The train journey rose up from her memory, specifically a visit from a one-eyed soldier. _Good grief_._ They could almost be twins_. But they couldn't be, surely? The Marquis made her flesh crawl whereas the soldier had stuck her as polite and, somehow, slightly lonely. Besides, the coincidence of such a thing bordered on the ludicrous!

A shock run up her spine as she registered that one of the Marquis' narrow eyes was looking straight at her. He clicked his fingers and pointed in her direction. In response, a massive, tanned brute started striding over. She spun and fled back to the nurse's quarters.

* * *

Solomon grunted and glanced over his shoulder. The Marquis waved him back.  
"Let her go. Not quite enough curiosity to be harmful. And it would upset Dr Graves if she got herself hurt."  
He regarded the stretchers and their occupants. Neither was moving beyond shallow breathing.  
"Speaking of doctors… Take them to Lazarus. Get him to dope them properly. I doubt they'll be waking up any time soon but it pays to be cautious." 

"Sir!"  
Cain burst into the hall, clutching a radio transcript. He skidded to a stop in front of the Marquis, who arched an eyebrow.  
"Is the building on fire?"  
"No sir! Luke has just reported –"  
"Don't waste your breath. I think I know." He plucked the transcript from the man's hand. "Ah, yes. A not unexpected turn of events. Is he still on the line?"  
"Err, yes sir."  
"Good. Tell him to not so much as blink. Solomon, dispatch appropriate reinforcements to keep a discrete but unwavering watch on that house. They are not to be let out of our sight."  
They hurried to obey.

Pausing only to consult a pocket watch, the leader of the Templars strolled after the departing Cain. He had a report to deliver.

* * *

It would have been easy to think that Chambers was sleeping. He sat at his desk as usual; bolt upright but with his head bowed and his eyes closed. More than that, there was an indefinably air of absence about him, a subtle lack of life usually only found in the comatose. Yet for all that, a single, soft cough was all it took to rouse him. 

"You have them."  
The phrase was not a question.  
"We have the older brother. And a man with an unusual face."  
"Unusual?"  
"In that, if one ignores the missing eye, it is _my_ face."  
Chambers pressed his fingertips together.  
"How very curious. I suggest you ask him where he acquired it."  
The Templar bared his teeth.  
"With the greatest of pleasure."  
"After I have examined them both. They have been anesthetised?"

"I felt it best." The Marquis ran a finger over a tabletop. It came away clean. "Falconer was there too. She escaped. With help. Lot and Isaiah are considerably worse for wear."  
At this, Chambers raised his eyes.  
"Really?"  
"The ever-vigilant Luke informs me that Abel observed her being escorted to the boy's house."  
"Indeed? Then you wish to storm the place."  
"The advantage of anonymity no longer exists. It makes sense to gather up all the loose ends as quickly as possible. With your permission, of course…"

"Of course," echoed his employer, standing.  
He contemplated the issue, moving out from behind the desk as he did so. The single clock in the room ticked louder in the lull.  
"They are very likely to engage foolhardy attempt to retrieve their comrades. Until you can guarantee that the local authorities will not be disturbed by an attempt at kidnapping, the safest option remains letting them come here."  
"And if they alert said authorities to our operation?"  
"I find that possibility unlikely. Falconer's connections have been dealt with and I doubt the German authorities will be easily convinced to investigate a perfectly legal establishment like this on the basis of some fairly extreme claims."  
"The Trojans found it unlikely that the horse was hollow."

"Nevertheless," was Chambers' stern reply, "while our quarry now knows us, the spectators remain ignorant. I would rather it remained that way."  
"If you insist."  
"I do. Now, let us examine the results of your evening exertions."

* * *

The room was just as well appointed as the infirmary, the rows of equipment just as shiny and up-to-the-minute. There were, however, no windows to flood the room with light. That job went instead to a set of harsh electric lamps. Twelve Templars stood on guard over two of the beds, all standing with their arms crossed and their feet apart. 

Lazarus, a tall brown haired Austrian, prowled around them. He looked up as the Marquis and Chambers came in.  
"Sirs…welcome."  
"How are the gentlemen, doctor?" the Marquis asked.  
"A little battered and bruised…but sleeping soundly. _Very_ soundly."  
"Excellent. Mr Chambers…?"

He approached the beds, glasses glinting. On the nearest lay a man with a face that would have matched L'enfer's if it had not had tried to weather a bullet at some point. There were more differences, subtle but enough to distinguish the two more completely. Curiously though, they cut their hair in almost exactly the same way.  
"Interesting. The divergence is obvious but not necessarily extreme." He pressed a hand to the scared forehead. "Hm. Your drugs are too effective. He's too deeply under." A slight frown crossed a normally expressionless visage. "However…"  
Snatching his hand away, he turned and addressed the Marquis.  
"Around his neck. Please extract the object."

L'enfer looked at him in puzzlement but did as he was told. The necklace and the four baubles came away easily. Three of them were glowing brightly.  
"This?"  
"Kindly destroy them."  
"Pardon?"  
Something almost like real emotion entered Chambers' voice.  
"At _once_, if you will."

The Marquis frowned then shrugged. He dropped the necklace and lifted a boot. His heel smashed the 'eyes' and ground the remains to powder. Chambers nodded in satisfaction, beckoning to an orderly.  
"Take the debris and place it in the furnace."  
"May I ask…?" The question was accompanied by another of L'enfer's exercises in eyebrow lifting.

Chambers was already by the second bed. Edward Elric looked remarkably peaceful for someone who had recently been smashed in the face with a sword's pommel. His right sleeve was ripped away to reveal the metal arm. The same treatment for his left trouser leg laid bare a similar apparatus in place of his shin and foot.  
"It would be unfortunate if we overlooked something that later caused us problems. These connections appear simple to operate. Remove the false limbs. A study of such elegant technology may prove advantageous."  
Nodding eagerly, Lazarus advanced.  
"Yes sir…I'll get started immediately. He will have to be moved though…to the workshops, I think."  
"Do so. When you have finished, bring him to me."

Templars sprung into action to transfer the unconscious twenty year old back onto a stretcher.  
"What about my previously non-existent twin?"  
"Do with him what you wish, Marquis. Within reason. Keeping him alive could be to our advantage. And I shall require him conscious or sleeping at some point."  
"I'm sure I can manage that. I'm very good at keeping people alive."  
The Marquis crossed his arms, flicking a hand at those of his subordinates still nearby. They rushed to haul Elric's companion up and carry the limp form away.

He looked at Chambers from the corner of his eye.  
"I have no desire to pry but it strikes me that something has perturbed you. That necklace –"  
"Those who would oppose us are powerful. Underestimating them would be dangerous."  
"You mean –"  
"I do. They cannot interfere directly so they have sent agents in their stead."  
"Pretty poor agents."  
"We have one of them. The other remains at large."  
Comprehension dawned.  
"Luke's sighting of Falconer… Do you think…I'm sorry, do you _know_ that that was her counterpart from…wherever?"  
"Yes."  
"Another Falconer…well, well, well." He smiled a smile that had been known to make grown men run for their lives. "That will make life interesting."

* * *

Lazarus examined the machinery through a jeweller's eyeglass, humming to himself. It was, as Chambers had pointed out, elegant in its design. He was no mechanic but he could appreciate the way it emulated biology.  
"This should not take long…not too long, I think."  
With care, he worked his way through the catches in the shoulder mount. Eventually, the arm came away cleanly, the connection proving to run far deeper into the torso than he had suspected. 

"There we go…fascinating!"  
Flexing each joint, he was further amazed at the engineering. Every part fitted into the whole with perfect precision.  
"This is incredible…so far beyond modern technology…"  
Ezekiel, one of the other Templars in the room, gave a non-committal grunt.  
"Then you won't be able to make anything like it, will you?"  
"But even so…the possibilities."  
Thoughts full of medical – not to mention military – applications of such devices, Lazarus moved to disconnect Edward's leg.

* * *

Like the man himself, Chambers office was devoid of distinguishing features. There were tables and bookcases, all made from smooth, dark wood. Each book was leather bound and unmarked, their coverings betraying no hint of their contents. The desk held only papers and pens. Not one personal artefact marred the drabness. 

He did not seat himself straight away. Picking up the telephone, he dialled and waited. The line clicked.  
"Thomas? I would like to conduct another test. Please escort the Patient to my office. Immediately."  
Without awaiting an answer, he hung up.

Five minutes later, the door opened to admit Graves and Nurse Simons, the latter propelling a wheelchair. Without preamble, Chambers indicated a spot at the centre of the room.  
"Over there. Thank you."  
"Ah…Chambers?" Graves asked, nervously, "What tests do you need to perform? We have already…"  
A raised hand cut him off.  
"You may go, Thomas."  
"Ah…yes, of course…err…come, Simons."

It was not until the door had closed that Chambers looked up. He knew the way he avoided eye contact unnerved others but made no effort to change the situation. Natural enough, given that the effect was partly intentional.  
"Good evening."  
The Patient moaned slightly, shifting in his chair. His bandages had been rewound so that they no longer covered his mouth and eyes and he hesitantly smiled.  
Chambers leafed through a slim journal.  
"Edward Elric arrived here today. We have a little more time in which to continue with these exercises, though. I think I would have made the time anyway. They do seem to have aided quite considerably with your recovery." He smoothed the pages. "This will do."  
The sturdy pages were covered in neatly inked lines that formed a number of intricate symbols, all contained within a set of concentric circles. Few people in the world would have grasped the significance of the pattern. In another, few would not have.

He opened a drawer and lifted out a set of compasses, a ruler and three sticks of blue chalk. Then he went to kneel on the floor next to the Patient. With practiced and authoritative movements, he started to draw on the bare stone flags.

* * *

_A/N: Something of a filler chapter but with one or two important bits of information burried in the general procrastination! And, to make things worse, the next chapter will be another intermission, thise time featuring a very chilly Major Havoc..._


	15. Intermission 2: Epidemic

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Intermission 2: Epidemic**

"Welcome to Briggs, sir!"

Jean Havoc was not usually a man given to growling. However, standing ankle deep in snow in the middle of a howling gale without having had a cigarette for almost a day, he managed it.  
"Was that supposed to be a _joke_, lieutenant?"  
The unfortunate officer, a pale youth in the fur-lined uniform of a northern border soldier, stuttered fervent apologies.  
"N-no, of course not, Major Havoc, sir! It was only –"  
"Alright, I don't really care. Just take us inside!"

From the outside, the Briggs mountain fortress resembled nothing so much as a dam, a vast wall spanning the gap between two towering peaks. Members of the garrison appeared miniscule in comparison, dark ants crawling over concrete cliffs. It was said that you needed two things to serve there: foot thick skin and a damn good head for heights. Havoc and his assistants were led up a frosted steel staircase and through a set of massive doors. Sentries came to attention, their movements smooth and quick in spite of the climate. The interior of the fortress was as stark as the exterior and only a little warmer. More heavy shutters barred the way, each being drawn back in turn as the party was recognised and passes were exchanged. It was clear that if you managed to get into Briggs, you would not be leaving in a hurry.

After nearly fifteen minutes, the forbidding design gave way to a more comfortable atmosphere. Though still far from welcoming, the whitewashed walls and ordinary wooden doors were on a scale closer to that of normal buildings.  
"In here, sir," the now obsequious lieutenant gestured.  
Evidently, he had formed the opinion that Havoc's fuse needed to be measured with a micrometer.

The room was, unsurprisingly, sparsely furnished. Outside two unoccupied desks, the only furniture consisted of three filing cabinets and an optimistic coat rack. The lieutenant went to knock on the door at the other end but it opened before he got halfway. He crashed into a salute.  
"Sir! The representatives of the Alchemic Investigations Division are here."  
"I can see that, Linques. They're standing right behind you."

From the inner office emerged a brown skinned man with pure white hair pulled back into a short, bristling style that could not really be called a ponytail. His sideburns were trimmed into sharp, upwardly angled triangles, giving him a formidable aspect, something completed by a set of tinted glasses that completely hid his eyes.

He also saluted, much more professionally than Linques.  
"Major Havoc. I am Major Miles, third in command of the Briggs garrison. My apologies for not meeting you in person. Being the only ranking officer currently on the base has its disadvantages."  
Havoc returned the courtesy.  
"No apology needed." He waved at the man and woman beside him. "This is First Lieutenant Ross and Warrant Officer Bloch, here to act as my assistants."  
They came to attention and Miles acknowledged them with a nod.  
"If you'll come with me, I'll take you directly to the infirmary. Time is at something of a premium at the moment." Miles glanced at Linques. "You're in charge here until I get back. Don't sign anything."

Setting a brisk pace, the major took them back out into the corridor. Havoc fell in step next to him.  
"D'you mind me asking how the third-in-command gets left in sole charge of a place like this?"  
"Because the Major General and the Colonel are out on a mission down in the western pass and the weather's effectively cut off our communications."  
"Ah. How long have you been out of contact?"  
"A day and a half so far."  
"Worrying."

A smile threatened to cross Miles' face.  
"Knowing my superiors, not really. On a not unrelated note, I was a little surprised when you arrived. We were expecting Colonel Royce."  
"Huh…yeah…" A certain amount of nervousness entered Havoc's voice. "The colonel's had to take urgent sick leave."  
Miles' dark glasses gave no hint as to what he thought of this information but his next words sounded a little doubtful.  
"I see."

* * *

"I'd better warn you, this isn't a pleasant sight."The four of them stood around the autopsy table, its contents hidden beneath a blue sheet. Havoc looked across at an already distinctly green Bloch and snorted.  
"We aren't all soft in the south, Miles."  
The other man did not react to the jab.  
"Possibly not but since this made _my_ stomach do some fairly strange things, I thought I'd ought to make the effort."  
Without further ado, he swept the sheet aside. 

He was quite right. The sight was anything but pleasant.

"Holy _shit_."  
Ignoring Havoc's singularly unprofessional response, Miles continued speaking flatly.  
"Allow me to present the mortal remains – such as they are – of Major Marcus Ospree, late of the State Alchemists."  
Bloch clamped a hand over his mouth. Havoc had to fight just as hard to keep his lunch where it was as he moved to get a better look. The worst part was that the mess before them had so obviously been a human being. You could see the ruin of the man even without most of the limbs…or half the skull…or the very clearly missing internal organs…

Displaying courage that deserved a medal, Ross leant to examine the bits of corpse.  
"Sir, these…don't look like any wounds I've ever come across. They're almost like…bite marks, but…so regular…urgh!" She stepped away hastily. "I'm sorry sir, that was –"  
"You really don't have to be," Havoc answered queasily, "Thanks Miles, I think we've seen enough."  
"You certainly look like you have."  
The major drew the sheet back into place.

"What exactly happened? The report you sent to Central Command said your alchemist had been killed by a backlash but it didn't exactly go into details."  
"To be honest, we weren't entirely sure what else to say. Three days ago, he set about a transmutation on the battlements. When he activated the array, there was the usual alchemic glow, the reaction took hold and then he started screaming. By the time we were able to reach him…as you've seen, there wasn't much left."  
"What was he trying to do? Was it…weapons alchemy? Chimera creation? Anything like that?"  
Miles smiled grimly.  
"He was trying to clear the snow. Just as he did every day since he arrived. He was the Melt-Water Alchemist. That's why he got assigned here."  
"Did the reaction change colour?" Ross asked.  
"It may have done but the volume of steam produced made it impossible to tell."

"Right…" Havoc rubbed the back of his neck. "We'll have to examine the scene of the crime and take witness statements. Oh, and we'll need photographs of the…body." He turned to the still-pale Warrant Officer. "Bloch, go and fetch the equipment from the car and set up in here. Ross and I'll get started on the witnesses. Can you round them up for us?"  
Nodding, Miles strode to the partition and hailed a couple of privates.  
"Morgan, help Warrant Officer Bloch get his camera in here. Aberthy, Lieutenant Linques is in my office. Tell him I want everyone on the list on my desk assembled in the mess hall in fifteen minutes. Jump to it."

* * *

Four hours later, Havoc laid his pen aside, rested his head in his hands and groaned.  
"Is it me or does this make absolutely no sense whatsoever?"  
Ross looked over his shoulder at the reams of notes.  
"In what way, sir?"  
"Right, I'm the first to admit that I have zero experience of alchemic backlashes but this does not fit with any of the accounts I've ever read. The reaction didn't collapse, it carried on. Ospree cleared the snow, just like he meant to. He just happened to come out the other end looking like he'd been three rounds with a meat grinder and lost."  
"Not a normal backlash then," Ross mused, "Something else." She paused. "Are we working on the assumption that this is connected to what's been happening in the south?" 

"And what would that be, exactly?"  
The two of them jumped guiltily. Miles was leaning against the doorframe, fixing the room's occupants with a steel-rimmed stare. Havoc glared back.  
"You could have knocked."  
"I could have," he agreed, calmly, "Are you going to answer my question?"  
"Technically we don't have to. As part of Investigations, we have an absolute right to keep information confidential."  
The other major stood upright and quietly closed the door. He advanced into the room, hands clasped behind his back.  
"All true. There is absolutely nothing I can do to force you to explain yourself. But we are a very close-knit garrison. We have to be. The law here is that of survival and those who do so earn my and my comrade's respect. Ospree was well liked. And to have his death investigated by someone who is not a trained alchemist and who is more experienced with a sniper's rifle than a detective's magnifying glass could strike some as being a little insulting to his memory."

Havoc mouthed for a moment, as though trying to work something out.  
"Was that a threat or emotional blackmail?"  
No answer came. He sighed.  
"Alright, alright. On the grounds that I really don't want to be kicked out in the middle of a blizzard and that everyone's going to know pretty soon, I'll explain. You've got us because we're the only ones available."  
"Really? The last time I checked, the military had a fairly considerable number of alchemists at its disposal. Has there been a sudden outbreak of honourable discharges?"  
"No. There's been a sudden outbreak of state alchemists being too ill to do anything much above breathing."

Miles digested this.  
"Illness? How many have been affected?"  
"Pretty much all of them. Colonel Royce is in a coma, so're Majors Comanche and Bresslau. They're the worst cases. The rest…most are too weak to move. And it's not just state alchemists, either. There've been reports from right across the country of alchemists collapsing during transmutations. And I'm not talking big stuff here, I'm talking everyday fixing-of-tools, things like that. As a result, Investigations is being rushed off its collective feet. They're having to drag in anyone who's had any experience with alchemy but who isn't actually one themselves. I got assigned to them just because of all the years I've spent with the Flame Alchemist! It's got that freakin' bad!"  
"Why haven't we received word of this before now?"  
"Oh, simple. It only started two weeks ago!"  
"Two weeks…? And you believe Ospree's death is connected to this?"  
"It's a possibility. Several of the men we talked to said he'd been looking a bit sick recently. But…a mysterious disease is one thing. Being ripped to shreds…that's another."

There was a thoughtful silence.  
"It's a very rapidly spreading plague if it's decimated our forces in the space of fourteen days," Miles commented.  
"Rapidly spreading, undetectable, only affects alchemists, no symptoms other than complete physical exhaustion…it's an all round mystery. The doctors are all baffled. People are beginning to say there might actually be a problem with alchemy itself, if that's possible. Hell, for all anyone knows, it _can_ kill people and make it look like they were half eaten!"  
"Problematic."  
"Hah! _That_ has to be the understatement of the century!"

"We'll do our best, sir," put in Ross, "but the situation…"  
"I quite understand. Naturally you have the full support and cooperation of the Briggs detachment in your investigations."  
"I thought we had that anyway," Havoc muttered.  
"Then consider it reaffirmed. Here." Reaching under his coat, Miles took out a steel key. "This will get you into Ospree's workshop. There may be something in there that will help you."

He handed it over then walked back to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.  
"By the way. Am I to assume that Brigadier General Mustang is also incapacitated?"  
The other two officers exchanged glances.  
"We're not sure," said Havoc, eventually, "He went on a mission just before all this started and we haven't heard from him since."  
Miles blinked, nodded and walked away.

* * *

Humility, like all her kind, was incapable of direct deceit. However, by her very nature, she tended to blend into the background, her efforts going unnoticed in human eyes. That was why, although she had been at his side throughout the entire exchange, no one, not even Miles himself, saw her there. 

She left him at the first intersection, finding her way deeper and deeper into the depths of the fortress. The soldiers she passed went by unaware of the white robed figure in their midst.  
"Humility."  
Diligence emerged from the shadows of the corridor, the towering figure of Abstinence at his side.

"They mourn their comrade." Her voice was a sweet, soft whisper. "They seek understanding of his death. But they will not find any. It is beyond them. They cannot comprehend what is happening."  
Diligence cast his eyes downwards.  
"That futility will not prevent them trying."  
"There will be more to mourn," Abstinence intoned, "We cannot protect them all."  
He lifted an arm free of his cloak, displaying the black flesh. And where it had been ripped away.

"There are not enough of us. There were never going to be. We can save a few, prevent the Hunger from claiming more than their strength. But the incursion is both extensive and worsening. In time, we will fail. And if so, more than we shall fall. The Hunger will be loosened. And then, all that is real and true will die."  
"We must prevent this," Humility breathed.  
"We cannot," Diligence said, almost bitterly, "For now we cannot reach the source of the malaise. We can do nothing but wait for those we have sent to move back into our awareness."  
"We could send others to aid them."  
"We do not have the strength to transfer _and_ return them safely," answered Abstinence, "We would only be compounding the problem. Nor can we now simply kill the misplaced beings. The impact of alien souls passing in the wrong world would be disastrous."

The three beings fell silent. Then Diligence turned.  
"We may only continue as we have before."  
Abstinence withdrew his arm.  
"Await our opportunity. Protect where we can."  
Humility's head bowed.  
"And trust we have predicted the progression of events accurately."

In a blaze of golden light, they sank into the stonework, leaving only an empty passage.

* * *

_A/N: No! I'm not just being mysterious for the sake of being mysterious!  
...  
_

_Much. Anyway, hope that was was enjoyable, that I've got Havoc and co acting in character and that you're able to do something with this other clue about what certain persons are up to. Oh, and a note on the Briggs characters: having read those issues of the Manga (and not much more of it) I've decided I definitely like the Northern Army. I may be slightly changing Miles' personality for this but drollness seemed an appropriate character trait. And I do know the command staff for Briggs is supposed to be a Major General, a Major and a Captain but captain doesn't seem to exist as a rank in the anime universe (possibly it does but I like the quirk). And I also realise this demotes Miles a step in the chain of command. But who knows? It might not even _be_ the same chain of command...  
_

_Something to develope later, I think. If there is a later..._


	16. Chapter 13: Awakenings

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having poking it to see what'll happen._

_And, warning for character torture. Ish.  
_

**Chapter 13: Awakenings**

Falconer was surprised to wake up in a strange room. Not by the room, but by the fact that she had woken at all. She sat up, realising as she did that she was wearing nothing but a nightshirt and that there was someone sitting nearby.

Al smiled and set his book aside.  
"Good morning. Are you feeling any better?"  
"I…yes, I believe I…"  
The rest of her sentence dissolved into coughing. Concern flashing across his face, Al rushed forward with a glass of water.  
"Here, drink this."  
He pressed it into her hands and she gulped greedily at the liquid. Slowly, she managed to bring the fit under control.  
"Better?" the boy at her side asked.  
"Yes…yes, thank you. Hah. I really have been making a complete fool of myself, haven't I?"

"Why do you say that?" His tone held genuine astonishment.  
"I have hardly been behaving in a very professional manner…"  
"Did your training cover encountering real live dragons?"  
"Hardly!"  
"Well, then. Don't blame yourself for being human. That's one of the worst things someone can do to themselves."

She leant back against the pillows, picking at the threadbare cuffs of the shirt.  
"Maybe… By the way…I don't recall getting undressed…"  
A faint redness crept across his cheeks despite his answer being perfectly innocent.  
"Noah and Hawkeye did that. The shirt's mine because we didn't have much else I'm afraid. They would have been here with you but Noah had to sleep and it probably wouldn't have been a good idea for you to see the major when you woke up…"  
He trailed off, fiddling with the buttons on the shirt he was actually wearing.

Falconer managed a weak grin.  
"I agree. Thank you for watching over me." Some sensible part of her brain chose that moment to make its presence felt and the present situation settled into the front of her thoughts. "Has anything…happened?"  
"No, it's been quiet."  
"Have you…discussed…"  
"We're not leaving," he told her, solemnly, "We can't run away and abandon them."

She appraised him with slightly lidded eyes, taking in every determined line on his face.  
"Of course not," was her eventual response, "Of course not." Her eyes closed fully for a few seconds and she took a deep breath. "I'll help as best I can. They'll still be alive, that I can promise. Chambers needs your brother and any leverage he can use against him. And that, I'm afraid, includes you. Which means the Templars are going to come here, sooner or later. So…Alphonse…I hope you're prepared to fight for your life."

* * *

It was the pain that brought Mustang back to consciousness, a sharp, stabbing pain in his arms, as if they were being pulled from their sockets with exquisite slowness. A second source of discomfort spread downwards from his hands, the two meeting in the middle to kick the hell out of his elbows. As the senses further down his body reported in, he came to the conclusion that the hurt was probably connected to the lack of anything solid beneath his feet. And by the feel of it, someone had stolen all the clothes above his waist. 

There seemed very few ways in which these could possibly be good things.

"Urrr…"  
The involuntary groan accompanied his efforts to force his eyelids to open up. They were unpleasantly heavy and gritty. When vision was finally established, his assessment of the situation proved to be completely accurate. He was hanging, chained up by his wrists in an unpleasantly meat-like fashion, at the centre of a bare, square room. Light, not precisely plentiful, came from a pair of electric lamps and there was a single trestle table set up off to his left. Nothing within kicking distance even if he had felt healthy enough to attempt lashing out.

Damn it all. He had only felt a distant impact when he'd been knocked out and now he might as well have just come out from under a car. Dizzy, woozy, whatever you liked to call it, he could hardly think straight. How long had he been out of it? No way to tell. His mouth tasted vile but that was little help and inconsequential unless severe skull trauma induced a post-Saturday night effect on his taste buds.

In a similar fashion, he never knew how much time he spent hanging there and thinking in circles. A semblance of certainty returned only when a door opened out of his line of sight and two sets of footsteps came in. One of these halted almost at once, the other kept going.  
"I trust you slept well?"  
Chills shot up Mustang's spine. They only intensified when he saw who was speaking.

The Marquis had removed his black coat, completely disclosing the silk shirt. The gloves remained, though, as did the sabre. He was smiling.  
"Ah…" Mustang croaked after nearly a minute of staring, "Are you supposed to be my evil twin?"  
L'enfer's smile got slightly wider.  
"More to the point, are you supposed to be _mine_?"  
"I don't know…I'm the one who's been hit on the head, drugged up to my eyeball and chained to the ceiling. Does that make me seem good or just unlucky?"  
"I'm not sure. Both, perhaps."

He started to prowl back and forth, amusement still fixed on his lips.  
"So tell me… Who are you?"  
"The hard ones first, huh?"  
"Flippancy. How very impressive, I'm sure. What is your name?"  
"King Bradley."  
"'King Bradley'," he repeated, rolling the words over on his tongue, "I always wondered what being true royalty would feel like...but somehow I doubt you will be able to tell me. That name strikes me as being about as justifiable as 'the Marquis De L'enfer'. However, since I choose to keep using the latter, I'll let you use the former."  
"Oh, thanks. Very generous of you."  
"Not at all. Where are you from?"  
"Colmar."  
"Really? Je suis désolé de vous déranger, mais aimeriez vous acheter de moi quelque cheveux voles? J'etais un canard, mais, les canards sont tres, tres stupid, ainsi j'ai change."

Mustang's face went blank. The Marquis shook his head sadly, as if disappointed.  
"You are not from Colmar."  
Snapped fingers summoned a large man carrying an oblong tray, which he laid on the table.  
"This," L'enfer gestured, "is Solomon. I consider him my most trusted soldier. He's very good at following orders, giving good advice and snapping necks with his bare hands."  
He went to peruse the tray's contents, settling after a while on a small, red penknife Turning it in his hands, he came back towards Mustang.  
"I myself prefer more elegant means of combat. I prefer elegance in general."  
The prisoner watched the penknife warily.  
"And that extends to torture?"

The comment was met with another smirk.  
"I don't have to torture you for basic information. I already know where…_what_ you come from. I know why you were sent here and that you did not come alone. I even know _exactly_ what your companion looks like. In _every last detail_. I look forward to meeting her."  
This provoked no reaction. None, at least, that could be seen without looking straight into Mustang's eye.

A sharp click announced the penknife opening. L'enfer held up the blade.  
"But for all that, ignorance remains. And that is unacceptable. Therefore, your highness, I'm very much afraid I shall have to delve a little deeper than a few glib retorts."  
Mustang said nothing. He continued to do so as the knife slid along his collarbone.

The cut was not deep. Neither were the next few.  
"That tickles." Mustang's lip curled contemptuously. "Oh. Please. Stop."  
"Hm. The delicate strains of defensive sarcasm. But this isn't meant to cause you any great pain. From the look of you, you're quite used to things that leave you with interesting scars so I hardly expect you to crack at a few more slices."  
The Marquis pulled the knife back. Its tip had been stained red.  
"No…this was purely to satisfy myself as to what colour you bleed."  
"If you thought it would be anything other than red, you really _are_ ignorant. And by the way: you should know that this sadism's helping the evil twin argument along nicely."  
"Sadism? Oh, I don't enjoy causing pain." He put the penknife back on the table. "The greatest thing a man can do is be victorious over another. Nothing else can compare with that. Pain is, when it comes down to it, only a means to an end."

Turning, he put his hands together.  
"And don't protest some child's morality, please. Put yourself in my position. Here is some alien personage who has taken your face – taken it and not been very careful with it. Wouldn't you _burn_ to know everything about them?"  
"Yes, probably. But I wouldn't resort to drawing on his chest with a scalpel to get him to talk about himself."  
"Ah."

L'enfer reached behind him, plucking a brown glass bottle from the tray. Slowly, he removed the stopper.  
"In which case, we clearly have very different opinions about the circumstances under which someone will speak with absolute honesty."  
The stopper came out with a faint pop. A waft of acidic air escaped.  
"And…possibly…" He shrugged then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. "Maybe I do enjoy other people's pain. Just a little."

With that, he poured the vinegar all over Mustang's cuts.

* * *

_This chair's comfortable._

That was the entirety of Edward's thought processes as his brain heaved itself out of a drug-addled daze. And were it not for the faint wave of nausea that washed over him, he would probably have gone straight back to sleep. Instead, he reminded his head that, yes, it could lift to an angle other than ninety degrees forward, before exerting himself in an effort to remember how you saw things.

In the act of reaching up to rub his eyes, he finally noticed that something was terribly, terribly wrong with him. He went from slumped to half-standing in the space of less than a second. He sat back down almost as fast and without any choice in the matter.

His auto-mail was gone. Not shattered or immobilised but completely absent, leaving him with nothing but the hollow sensation that always came with its removal. Which meant he was virtually defenceless, his balance was shot to pieces and he wasn't going anywhere at any speed.

A stream of expletives prepared to burst forth at considerable volume.

"Good afternoon, Mr Elric."  
Like his voice, the man who emerged from the shadows that furnished the room lacked any distinguishing feature. The deficiency was strangely unnerving. He bent his head, glasses flashing.  
"My name is Benedict Chambers."

"That's not my fault," Ed growled back, "What the hell have you done with my arm and leg?"  
"Removed them," Chambers answered calmly.  
"Yeah, I noticed! Where the hell are they?!"  
"Perfectly safe. It seemed the simplest way of rendering you incapable of any rash action."  
"_Did it_?"  
Teeth gritted, Ed gave his most furious glare.

It had no effect. Chambers adjusted his glasses and clasped his hands behind his back.  
"It did. And, given the alternatives, this at least affords you a measure of dignity."  
"_Dignity_!? You call this –"  
"Compared to being in chains, this is dignified. Believe me, my colleagues are considerably less accommodating, as your companion will most likely be discovering."  
"Compan – what have you done to him?!"  
"I? Nothing. Don't worry. He's still alive."  
"'_For now_'? Is that what you're about to say?"  
"No."

The elder, taller, non-amputee drew a chair from the shadows, a wingchair identical to the one Ed was occupying. Sitting down brought him to the youth's eye level.  
"To be frank, Mr Elric, I find threats and the like a tiresome business and do not, therefore, make them unless absolutely necessary. I deal in knowledge, nothing more, nothing less. Anything else is of secondary concern. That I'm sure is a familiar attitude."  
"Who told you my name?" Ed hissed.  
"There. You seek to understand. Good. Your father told me. He thought very highly of you."  
"How did you – wait…you're with Thule, aren't you? Damnit! You bastards are finished, can't you accept th –"  
"I am not and never have been a member of the late Thule Society."

"You…aren't?"  
Chambers steepled his fingers.  
"They were a group of foolish fanatics who embraced mysticism over science and thereby paved the way to their own destruction. While they assisted my goals on occasion, their demise was a considerable relief. I thank you for that."  
"But if you're not… What goals?"  
The blackness that had dispersed with surprise at the denial returned full force. Ed's eyes were narrowed so far they were in danger of shutting.  
"You want to pick up where they left off, is that it?"  
Still displaying not a flicker of emotion, Chambers gave the tiniest shake of his head.  
"That is not it at all."  
"Then_what_?"

"I have no desire to invade or destroy your world, Edward Hohenhiem Elric. All I wish is to change my own."

* * *

_A/N: No excuse for this chapter other than it sort of had to be in here to fill up plot room..._

_Um...yeah..._

_And I know Edward doesn't have an official middle name, but the thought of something else for him to be annoyed with his father over just had to be acted upon. :) _


	17. Chapter 14: Theories Of Everything

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just trying to rationalise bits of it._

** Chapter 14: Theories Of Everything**

"Allow me to describe to you the structure of existence as I understand it," the bespectacled man said, in the tones of someone about to discuss the weather.  
"Like I have a choice."  
Ed attempted to cross his arms but the numerical deficiency made the effort futile. Chambers ignored the interruption.

"There are two worlds," he began, "Two cosmoses that exist alongside one another. There is this world, where the heights of human achievement are the sciences of biology, chemistry, physics and mathematics, where we build from what we have, shaping our constructs slowly and imperfectly. And then there is the other world, where the science of direct transmutation holds sway. Alchemy allows its practitioners to manipulate matter without the need for machinery or tools, via the application of pure knowledge.

"How this divergence came about is complicated but may, I think, be traced to an experiment performed long ago by someone history has forgotten. Perhaps they set out to change one form of matter to another. Perhaps they drew up a complexity of circles and symbols and held knowledge of the substance in the forefront of their mind. And perhaps they touched their work and tried to make the laws of nature bend.

"Here, nothing happened. The experiment failed. But it the other world, it succeeded. Alchemy was a success. The split began and a precedent was set."  
He paused. The sheer level of animosity radiating from his audience would have been off-putting for a statue. However, since it was a silent balefulness, he continued quickly.  
"From one isolated incident, the science developed exponentially, until all its apparent limits and laws were known. As in chemistry, it was determined that several factors must be present for any reaction to occur. The matter to be transmuted. The equations to govern the process. And, of course, the energy required to fuel it.

"The last is an interesting point. It has often been postulated by the scientists of this world that there can only be a certain amount of energy in existence, that it can neither be created nor destroyed only transformed. They are correct, but on too limited a scale. Energy remains constant across _two_ existences and as a certain form of it leaves one world, so it may enter the other. This flow moves along a conduit that links the universes, a door, a _gateway_ that resides on a plane of reality not considered by the physicist."

His second pause was longer; enough to allow what he had said to fully sink in. The faintest hint of surprise and interest broke through Ed's glowering, but Chambers went on before he could speak.  
"All life is consistent in that it may be said to result from more than inanimate matter. There is something, a 'spark of life' if you will, that _drives_ life on. In essence, our lives, the accumulation of experience and memory, may be thought of as very slow chemical – or indeed _al_chemical – reactions. Which means that inside every being there must be a form of energy. This energy emerges into newborn life and returns whence it came when its container may no longer function. It is this that the gate, the conduit carries, collecting and storing the output of billions upon billions of lives. In essence, it is the battery of life and death, a battery that shall never run dry."

"Battery?" Ed snorted, "Energy? Why don't you use the proper words? You're talking about people's souls!"  
"The connotations attached to such a term are a distraction and, on the whole, non-scientific."  
"And this stuff _is_?!"  
"Comparatively. If I may continue…?"  
"Oh, please! It's not like I've ever been able to make mad men shut up…"

"One must note a distinction between the energy leaving the gate and the energy returning. Conservation demands that some quality must have changed by the time of its re-absorption. In simple terms, this quality is that of experience. Memories and knowledge, metaphysical concepts of the like: these become intertwined with an absolute reality and pour into the gate, pooling within. The result is a vast store of all that can possibly be known. Time is something imposed upon the physical, to energy it is irrelevant. The gate, therefore, contains all the truths that can ever be. The Gate _is_ the Truth. And it is to this that the alchemist appeals.

"Specifically, they draw upon the energy leaving _this_ world, since it is agreeably…polarised might be the best description. They take it into themselves and project it as needed. In addition to being a source of raw power, its qualities induce a subconscious analysis of the materials being dealt with. The best alchemists are those who are most receptive to this aspect.

"Now, in theory, the power provided by the Gate should be unlimited. But no system, even a natural one, can be perfect when actualised. Impurities creep in. And it is in impurity that life begins. Such is the case here. Within the Gate, existing almost parasitically, there arose a form of being. They are creatures of limbo, mimicking, insofar as it is possible, the energy that surrounds them. The duplication is poor though and they cannot truly become part of the reservoir nor can they be…'born'. Instead they lie alongside the flow, aware of it, aware of the vastness and variety of a physical existence but incapable of embracing those things for themselves.

"That inability does not, however, prevent them from coveting them. They constantly strive to reach out from the shadows, to clutch and claw at everything beyond the confines of the Gate. It is they who limit alchemy. If someone tries to take too much, to open their link to the reservoirs too wide, the Hunger will seize them. At first, it will merely take their vigour. But if they are strong enough to persist, or even worse, they seek to act in contravention of the natural flow, their flesh, bone, mind and, if you insist, their soul will be forfeit."

Ed's hand went unconsciously to the empty auto-mail socket embedded in his right shoulder.  
"I get the picture."  
"Not entirely. In addition to being unable to truly be alive, they cannot truly consume. Instead, what they steal remains in their care. They hold onto it, only releasing it when something else is given up in its place. The ultimate goal of such striving is to become corporeal and in doing so become part of the life-death flow they so envy. And that drives those among them who are strong enough and who are – to continue with the analogy – correctly polarised, to latch onto appropriate vessels and escape their fellows."  
"Homunculi."

"Correct." Chambers placed his hands on the armrests of his chair. "There. The constituent parts of reality. Two worlds. A common Truth. The link between the three. And the creatures that exist at the confluence. All interconnected. All part of the greater whole."  
"If you're expecting a round of applause," Ed grated, "I'm gonna have to disappoint you. That was a very nice speech, though. You should write it down at get it published. I bet it'd get a lot of laughs from a lot of people."  
This again failed to evoke a response. Ed scowled. Did nothing get a rise out of the guy?  
"Like I said, very nice. So…how the hell do you know all this stuff? You get my old man drunk or something?"  
"You father was one of my sources, but his knowledge on these matters was inadequate. As indeed was your brothers. However –"  
"BROTHER?! What the _hell_?! Al?! When did –"  
"Your half-brother."  
"Half –" The lump hammer of realisation slammed into Ed's brain. "_ENVY_?! You… How… You –"  
"How I know these things is of secondary importance. You should concern yourself instead with what I intend to use my knowledge for."

Grim foreboding knotted his guts. Ed knuckled his brow, clamping down on the urge to scream at every bit of this grand scheme of the universe and keep yelling until they left him alone.  
"And what would _that_ be…?"

Lifting long fingers, Chambers plucked the glasses from his nose, removing the screen between him and the world.  
"As things stand, people of the other world, of your world, can tap into the power of deaths from this one. And yet, the power from deaths on their side of the Gate remains unused. The people of this world are unable to perform alchemy of our own. My question is this: why should that be so?

The question did not seem to be rhetorical.  
"Why?" Ed spluttered, "Because it is! That's the way things are! You said it yourself! Here, alchemy failed! It just did!"  
"But you accept that there must be energy there, waiting to be used?"  
"Well…I guess so…but …"

"The energy _is_ there. It _is_ waiting. And, Mr Elric, with your help, I intend to bring about changes that will allow it to be used." He leant his head to the side then added, presumably for emphasis, "I intend to give my world alchemy."

* * *

Anna Simons had been a nurse for more years than she cared to recall. She had developed the sort of personality that is unfazed by practically everything life can throw at it and prided herself on being unerringly reliable. Part of that trait involved keeping her opinions of her superiors firmly under wraps, outside of the usual private gossip. Openly criticising a doctor was, quite simply, unthinkable.

Nevertheless, it had recently become increasingly difficult to suppress her disapproval. On general principle, Graves had always annoyed her, being as he was a pompous, overbearing twit. His faults, however, had paled in comparison to the other 'doctors' the peculiar Mr Chambers had in his employ. Most were foreigners, which counted against them for a start, and all were…odd. Especially the Austrian who called himself Lazarus. Whenever he moved, he seemed to be sneaking and acting suspiciously. Anna did not approve of people like that.

And while she was not about to give in to Helen's habit of over-dramatic outbursts, her patience with the whole affair was starting to wear thin.

"At least it seems to have done you some good," she muttered to the Patient as she adjusted his blankets, "That was the point of coming here, I suppose."  
He didn't answer but she hadn't expected him to. The poor fellow's mind was clearly long gone, despite Helen's hopes to the contrary.

The nurse straightened, affectionately ruffling the fizz that covered the invalid's head. His hair was starting to grow properly, for the first time in…goodness. It must have been about four years…

The door opened.  
"Anna?"  
Helen came in, smoothing her skirts in the way that the older woman had learnt meant she was incredibly nervous about something.  
"Helen, dear. What is it?"  
"I… Did he cry out just now?"  
Anna frowned and shook her head.  
"No. He's been quiet all the while I've been in here."  
"Oh…I thought…I was walking outside and I thought I heard someone…scream."  
"I didn't hear anything. Are you sure it wasn't just one of the soldiers having a joke?"  
"I…I suppose it might have been…"

She came over and squeezed the Patient's hand, as she always did.  
"Where have you been?" Anna inquired.  
"Dr Graves needed me to help him and a Professor Pierce with an experiment. They needed blood samples for something."  
"I see. In which case, I'd better get you a cup of tea."  
Nodding a distracted 'thank you', Helen sat on the end of the bed. Just as Anna was about to leave, she spoke again.  
"Um…Anna…the Marquis…"  
"What about him? Has he molested you again?"  
"No, no!" she answered hurriedly from beneath a rapidly spreading blush, "Nothing like that. It's just…o-oh, never mind. I suppose it doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?"  
She certainly did not sound it. But her answer was firmly positive.  
"Yes. Sorry."

Anna blinked and sighed.  
"Very well. I'll get the tea on."  
Walking away, she could not help but wonder if she should be concerned about her fellow nurse. Hearing voices was seldom a good sign.

* * *

Ed threw back his head and laughed. He laughed long and hard, the harsh, slightly hysterical sound rebounding off the room's walls. Chambers remained silent, replacing his glasses as the laughter wound down to a coughing chuckle.

Peering out through his fringe, Ed swallowed and got a hold of himself.  
"You," he said, clamping down on his mirth, "You are _insane_. An absolutely, one hundred percent mad bastard." He warmed to his theme, gesturing wildly to underline his points. "In-_frickin_-sane. You actually _believe_ you can flick some cosmic switch and make alchemy work here? No…that…that's _beyond_ insane. It's so crazy there isn't a word for it! And, even better, you want _me_ to _help you_!" His fist clenched. "Let me make this clear for you in big, simple words: No. Fucking. Way. I wouldn't help you even if I could. Which, by the way, I can't! So take your crap and go to hell. Or better yet, give me back my arm and leg so I can SEND YOU THERE MYSELF!"

With infinite dignity, Chambers rose to his feet and spoke, very quietly.  
"I am not insane, Mr Elric. Neither is the idea of rearranging the way things are. It will be far from simple but it is most definitely possible. I have a most reliable source of information on the matter. What I have told you, I have done so out of politeness, so that you may think about how advantageous it would be for alchemy to be possible here."

He began to walk towards Ed, taking precise steps.  
"Still, I cannot say I seriously entertain the notion that you might help of your own free will. But that does not represent any great difficulty. And even if it did, there remain other options. Your brother Alphonse, for instance –"  
He had come within two feet of Ed's chair. Without warning, the youth surged up and forwards, still-clenched fist swinging.  
"YOU TOUCH HIM AND I'LL KILL Y –"  
Chambers' hand was suddenly in exactly the right place to block the punch.

The instant their skin touched, Ed froze. A sensation like icy cobwebs swept over him, concentrated inside his skull. It was utterly alien and utterly terrifying, far more so than anything had any right to be.

Chambers broke the contact, flexing his fingers slightly, and the cobwebs vanished. Choking back bile, Ed slammed back into the chair.  
"W-what the hell…" he whispered, "What the hell was that?"  
"That, Mr Elric, was me learning everything about you. Thank you. Now I know how you think, convincing you to assist me will no longer be a problem."

Without another word, Chambers turned and walked away, leaving the Fullmetal Alchemist pale and staring.

"Wait! WAIT! What do you…what…oh. Oh no…"  
He groaned as his memory tossed out a day, two years ago, when a dark-skinned girl had laid her hand tentatively on his shoulder. What had he told Hawkeye? Psychic abilities weren't common but they existed… _Oh, fucking _hell  
"You're like Noah? Is that it? Wait! Come back here, you bastard!"  
The bastard didn't obey. A door opened and closed.

Ed slumped and wrapped his arm around himself, fingers digging into the grubby red vest that had formerly been beneath a dark shirt, mind churning. There was, he decided after a while, probably a good side to being crippled and held prisoner by a telepathic maniac intent on rewiring the universe.

It was just damn good at hiding.

* * *

_A/N: More plot! Look! See? There is a point to all this!_

_ Possibly very clunkily done but I hope it makes a vague kind of sense. I don't think I out right contradicted myself...and if I did, it's 'cause it's all transcendent power stuff best dealt with on a higher plane of existence and I was probably dead tired when I wrote it... _


	18. Chapter 15: Taking Risks And Making Bets

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just torturing bits of it._

**Chapter 15: Taking Chances And Making Bets**

For a bodyguard, being hyperaware of the gun holstered in the small of your back could hardly be considered an uncommon feeling. Knowing that at any moment another human being could turn a weapon on you and, perhaps more importantly, that you could have to turn one on them – you either coped with that or you were in the wrong job. Hawkeye could cope with it, had coped with it and acted in the situations that fulfilled it. That, however, did not make the feeling any more pleasant.

She and Al were once again walking through the town, mingling with the crowds. They were doing so for two reasons. One: continued survival required food. Two: continued survival required that they locate the Templar spies.

Presenting oneself as a target. Another aspect of guarding someone, of being a soldier in general.

"Have you seen anyone?" Al asked, the question audible only to her as she handed him a bag of apples.  
"Two, possibly three men."  
He put the fruit in his rucksack, nodding.  
"The bakery's down the next street," he said, at a more normal volume, "We should buy some bread before we go back."  
They strolled onwards and Hawkeye let her eyes wander lazily. And there they were, the faces that she had glimpsed too often. The ones that were very studiously _not_ looking in their direction. She carefully memorised their features, no mean feat given how unmemorable those concerned were.

What they would do now they had identified their enemy was still open for debate. She knew what one part of her wanted to do, but taking her gun and grinding it into the side of one of the tails' heads until they told her everything was unlikely to work and more than likely to make things much worse. The image remained, though, going hand in hand with irrational anger at herself for not having been able to prevent the Templars' success.

Squashing both firmly down, she started to run through their options.

* * *

"Am I going to be allowed my knives?"  
Noah turned to find Falconer in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing clothes borrowed from Hawkeye and had tied her hair back in a ponytail.  
"Pardon?"  
"My knives." She pointed at the table, where the throwing blades and spring sheathes had been left. "If you trust me enough, I'd like to have the means to defend myself."  
Ivan, busy sharpening his own knives, lifted his eyebrows.  
"You think we don't trust you?" he asked, whetstone hissing across steel.  
It had already been established that the British spy spoke reasonably good German, so they were saved the translation needed when talking with her alternate self. 

Falconer dug at the floor with the tip of her shoe.  
"I don't think I would."  
The dark haired man glanced at Noah.  
"We can make sure of you, girl. Or make you sure of yourself. Whichever."  
"How?"  
Noah turned her hands palm upwards and held them out.  
"Here."  
Having caught on and blinked once, Falconer laid her fingers on the darker woman's skin.

After a few seconds, the Roma smiled.  
"You have been honest with us, Elizabeth. The only people you will be a danger to are our enemies." The trace of a frown wrinkled her forehead. "A danger to…"  
She broke away, steadying herself against the table.  
"What is it?" Ivan demanded, standing, "What's wrong?"  
"It's nothing…really…" She pressed her eyes shut. "I…that man…the one you think of so often, with so much hate…"  
Falconer went cold and stiffened.  
"How did you…hm. Clairvoyance, I suppose. A gypsy fortuneteller. Is that it?"  
"Yes."  
"Well. I wish I could say I didn't believe you… That man…the Marquis…I suppose I do dwell on him. I'm sorry if you…saw what…happened between us…"  
Shaking her head, Noah opened her eyes again.  
"No, it's not that. It's…well…he…he looks like –"

The opening of the front door cut her off and announced Al and Hawkeye's return. The two of them came into the kitchen sharing a look of satisfaction.  
"We know where the Templars are," Al announced, putting his bag down, "And…err…hey, is everything alright…?"  
"We were checking Miss Falconer to see whether she could be trusted with her weapons," Ivan growled, "And her thoughts seem to have been upsetting."  
"Noah? Are you –"  
"It's nothing, really," she protested in English, "I saw something I…didn't expect."  
"What?"  
Hawkeye and Falconer asked the same question within seconds of one another.

Noah's gaze flicked between them, settling eventually on Falconer before being directed nervously into a corner.  
"It's…not important. It can wait. What have you found out?"  
Although clearly finding her claim dubious, Al allowed the change of subject without protest.  
"They're using a house across the square and one in the street behind us. At least, we think they are."  
He looked askance at Hawkeye. She nodded.  
"It took a while to draw them into giving themselves away but they did. Still, knowing where they are and doing something about it are completely different things. We still have no idea how many of them are out there or how long they're going to be content to just watch us."  
"Chambers could give a stone lessons in patience," Falconer said, bitterly, "The Marquis is…less restrained but he probably won't act before Chambers tells him to. Again, though, that information is not much use on its own."

"There's so much we just _can't_ find out," Al mused, "Not without some way of spying on _them_…"  
Inwardly, impatience was starting to gnaw away at his guts, a treacherous imagination throwing up scenario after nightmare scenario about what might be being done to his brother and comrade. Noah did not have to touch him to see that. She was thinking much the same thoughts herself, as, surely, were the others.

Unconsciously, she started fiddling with her necklace. What to do was obvious, so much so that Al and Ivan at least must have reached the conclusion she had. But neither would be willing to say it out loud. Hawkeye might but she was still not comfortable with Noah's abilities and Falconer had only just learned about them.

The hand on her jewellery clenched. She looked up.  
"I can find out what we need."

* * *

Ed decided that the universe as a whole – no, wait: that two universes as a whole hated his guts. 

He had been hauled out of the darkened room by a pair of black-coated goons who had proceeded to manhandle him down several long corridors before dumping him unceremoniously on a rock hard bunk on one side of a seven-foot square cell. The guards had departed, locking the door and, up 'til that point, he could have forgiven them. They were probably only doing what they were paid to do after all and people, on the whole, do dumb things for money. Then he had rolled over and seen who was on the other bunk.

Frickin' Mustang.

He was locked in a very small room, with half his normal quota of limbs and his only companion was one supremely arrogant and sarcastic excuse for a cigarette lighter.  
"Someone up there is having a real laugh right now," he grumbled, give the ceiling the evil eye.

There was no answering quip. His frown changed gear and he took another, more careful look at the guy. And felt his breath catch.

Mustang's upper torso was covered in nothing but cuts, long red lines criss-crossing like a roadmap drawn in blood. Bruises run down his arms and his wrists looked raw and sliced up. Sweat had left his hair matted and his skin filthy. On top of all that, the eye-patch was gone, leaving the ugly scars it usually concealed clear to the world.

Ed found his tongue.  
"What the hell…Mustang…? What did they do to you…? Mustang? Hey! General! Wake up!"  
Either because of the desperation in the order or its sheer volume, it had the desired effect. The other alchemist moaned and shifted, his eyes fluttering. Ed pulled himself as near the gap between them as he dared, knowing that if he fell off, he would not be able to get up again without a struggle.

"Mustang…can you hear me?"  
The man's head flopped sideways.  
"Urr…Fullmetal…that you?"  
"Yeah, it's me. Can't you see me?"  
"Mm…just about…can't focus…"  
"What the hell did they do to you?"  
He blinked and a slow, delirious smile spread over his face.  
"I beat myself up. _I _beat_ myself _up!"  
Ed stared, disbelieving, as he started to laugh as if he'd just been told the best joke in the world. That rapidly came to an end, pain driving him into shuddering silence.  
"You mean the other you –"  
"Is a psychopath with a taste for knives and a thing for thoroughness…and not getting his hands dirty while he gets them dirty…"  
"_What_?"  
"Wears gloves." Mustang illustrated his point by waving his fingers. "Just like me."  
"You're not a psychopath."  
"Could have been. Could have been just like Kimblee…or Gran. Could have been. Just didn't have the guts."

Feeling sick, Ed wished he were in the position to swing a punch.  
"You're nothing like them, you idiot! You never could have been! Whoever did this to you…he can't have been anything like you."  
"My face. Was my face. Doesn't that make him me…?"  
"NO! No it frickin' well doesn't! He's…he's someone who looks like you but _isn't _you! He grew up here, in _another world_! His life's completely different, _he's_ completely different! Come on moron, you should know that appearances don't mean anything!"

A bit of this seemed to get through, just enough to make Mustang frown and look as though he couldn't quite understand what was being said.  
"Didn't used to be much different. Used to think only knowledge mattered. Teacher knocked most of that out…Ishbal took the rest…"  
"So there! You _are_ different! Snap out of it, matchstick! I don't want to sit here listening to your self-pity!"  
That did it.  
"Huh…hehuh… Look who's talking…"

Ed's shoulders did not slump with relief but he did relax a little.  
"Good. You're still in there, bastard."  
"Thought I told you that wasn't…argh…accurate." Mustang winced and rubbed at his right temple. "Thinking shouldn't hurt, should it…?"  
"Did they drug you?"  
"Urhh…yes…think so…kicked me, cut me, stabbed me…and then…then someone touched me. Wasn't _him_. Someone else. Made everything feel worse…"  
"Touched you?" Had the circumstances been different, Ed would probably have sat bolt upright. "Did you see what they looked like?"  
"Err…?"  
"Was he wearing glasses?"  
"What…yes…I think so…grey…he looked…grey."

Four years travelling around the northern hemisphere had greatly expanded Ed's vocabulary. He demonstrated how much by swearing loudly and fluently in roughly five languages. Mustang got the sentiment even if he couldn't understand the content.  
"Something…wrong?"  
"No, not much. That just happens to be the guy in charge around here and I think he can read minds like Noah. So even if you didn't talk…"  
"Oh…damn." He let out a ragged sigh. "That was the one good thing I was holding onto…thanks a bunch, Fullmetal."  
"For what it's worth, the guy's completely insane. Wants to change everything so that alchemy works here."  
"Really?" Mustang weakly snapped his fingers. "That sounds like a good idea."  
"No it fuckin' well doesn't. What about all that stuff the…'Gate-keepers' told you? Since he needs my help to do whatever the hell it is, I'm guessing it involves alchemy being done here which _apparently_ means the end of everything. YOU HEAR THAT, CHAMBERS?!"

"Why are you shouting at the roof…?"  
Ed gritted his teeth, the desire to hit things returning.  
"Because they'll be listening, because I want them to hear how angry they're making me and because it makes me feel better."  
He lay back, growling. Mustang rubbed his temple again before pursing his lips.  
"Got any idea…idea how to get out of this, Fullmetal?"  
"Without my auto-mail, without alchemy and with the hell beaten out of you? We sit here and wait for the walls to rot or the end of the world, whichever comes first."  
"Urr…my, my…the years have worn away your boundless optimism…haven't they?"  
With a slightly louder growl, Ed dragged himself towards the wall, pressing his back against it. Somehow, he couldn't quite summon up a retort or dispute Mustang's accuracy. Not that optimism was ever likely to be especially plentiful given all that had happened recently, let alone…

"What the hell are you doing?"  
The faint humming broke off.  
"Huh? Oh…just thinking…"  
"You need background music for that?"  
Lopsidedly, Mustang smirked.  
"It's what it was background music to that I was remembering." His smirk widened at Ed's obvious incomprehension. "Women, Fullmetal. I was going through all the women I've ever known and trying to decide who I'd like to give me my last kiss."

"_What_? Why the hell are you wasting time with something like that?!"  
"Because, as you so…eloquently pointed out…we haven't got much else to do."  
"Haven't you got anything more important to think about?"  
"_More important_…? You think a woman's kiss is…unimportant…?"  
"It's hardly on the same scale as the universe being ripped apart, is it?"  
"Oh, come on…they say a kiss can make the earth move…"  
"Yeah, well. I wouldn't know anything about that, would I?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"_What do you think_?"

Mustang frowned at him with a mix of curiosity and astonishment.  
"Fullmetal…" He considered his next words as carefully as he could. "You're twenty, right?"  
"Yeah. So what?"  
"Fullmetal, are you seriously saying that in two decades…you have never once kissed a girl?"  
There was a moment of rather uncomfortable quiet.  
"So what?" Ed repeated caustically.  
Mustang struggled for an answer.  
"It's just…no one…?"  
"You might not have noticed but I've had other things to worry about."  
"But…hell, Elric! No one?"  
"Why is this relevant to anything?"  
"But…surely…surely…Miss Rockbell…"

He's still delirious, Ed thought, counting to ten in his head. Then to fifty.  
"Why would I have kissed _Winry_?"  
"Because –"  
"She's my mechanic and I've known her since I was three. She's the nearest thing I've ever had to a best friend. That's it."  
Anyone in a healthy mental state would have abandoned the subject right then, based on Ed's tone being cold enough to stop a lava flow in its tracks. Mustang persisted.  
"That's not it. You –"  
"_Drop it, Mustang_."  
These dangerous syllables uttered, Ed rolled over.

Turned away, he couldn't see Mustang's face work its way through several perplexed contortions.  
"Hmm…" he said after a while, "Well, whatever you say, there's no mistaking what _she_ feels about _you_…"  
The younger man's back stiffened conspicuously.  
"And how the fuck would you know anything about that?"  
"She doesn't put flowers on your grave."

It occurred to Ed that his conversations lately had been peppered with a higher than normal number of stunned pauses. He rolled over again.  
"Grave? Flowers? _What_?"  
Mustang smiled.  
"After the invasion…you were officially declared Killed In Action. You got a quiet state burial…they…put your grave in the military yard in Central…Al as well. Miss Rockbell…she visited them…put flowers on Al's grave…knew he wasn't really dead but made a show of it…but she…she never once put flowers on yours. Not once."

"_Your point_?" Ed hissed.  
"My point…work it out yourself…you're supposed to be a genius, right?"  
He closed his eye, giving the impression of a man shrugging off a lost cause. The lost cause in question tried to will him to death, gave up and went _hmph_, loudly.  
"Idiot."

They lay there in an irritable silence for several minutes. The electric lamp flickered slightly.  
"Fullmetal." Mustang suddenly sounded very nearly lucid. "I want you to promise me something."  
"Hn?"  
"I want you to promise that when we get out of here and back home, you will kiss Miss Rockbell. I don't care if _you_ don't understand it, just do it."  
The resultant spluttering incoherence would have made a five-year younger Mustang struggle to contain a broad grin.

"I…! You…! We're…! And you…!"  
The abject fury abruptly disappeared. It was replaced by distinct slyness.  
"Alright, bastard. If it'll shut you up and let me get some rest, I'll promise. I promise that I'll kiss Winry…the day you kiss Hawkeye."

The matter settled to his satisfaction, Ed rolled over yet again and tried to concentrate on thinking up a way to get them out.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there goes another of those scenes that I've had stuck in my head for weeks!_


	19. Chapter 16: Going On The Offensive

_A/N: My apologies to everyone who's been reading for not updating for quite so long - heavy workload at Uni and general slowness. I promise to keep things moving a bit quicker for the next month or so! _

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just torturing bits of it._**  
**

**Chapter 16: Going On The Offensive**

Abel had been following orders all his life and so did not resent them. He had been a soldier, before a slight disagreement with his commanding officer had made it hazardous to remain in range of military justice. After that, he had drifted around the underworld for a while, hiring himself out to numerous less-than legal organisations until, eventually, he wound up among the Templars. The Marquis found the broad, silent man useful enough with a garrotte to offer him permanent employment and the opportunity had been gratefully grasped. He was essentially happy with his lot. Fighting and killing were two of the few things he was good at and any chance to exercise his skills was welcome.

What he _did_ resent was the man whose orders he currently had to follow.

Luke irritated him. The prissy, egotistical, self-loving Frenchman had, over the past few months, done more than enough to make Abel want to take him by the neck and unscrew his head. His delusions of grandeur and condescending attitude combined in a way that could have been specifically designed to get on the bigger man's nerves.

Which meant that when he had been ordered to leave Luke's immediate proximity, Abel had been more than a little glad.

Two of their targets had left the house in the marketplace, the gypsy girl and one of the Falconers, hurrying off with shopping baskets. He felt very little surprise that the treacherous bitch appeared to have gained a twin sister. He rarely felt much surprise about anything. At a discrete distance, he followed in the women's footsteps as they threaded their way through the streets. The light was still decent and there were still a considerable number of people about. That was a double-edged sword, of course. On the one hand it made the pursuer less conspicuous, on the other, it did the same for the pursued.

Nevertheless, he kept doggedly on their trail and there was no indication that they'd seen him. Soon, the crowds thinned out and the streets became dilapidated, forcing him to take steps to conceal himself more actively. He wondered where in blazes they were going and a faint suspicion started to grow in the back of his mind. Perhaps they _were_ not noticing him a little too readily for it to be entirely natural…

The pair turned off suddenly, disappearing down a side alley. Abel stopped, waiting and considering. His hand went to the wire wound around his left wrist. The houses all around were decaying shells, brick skulls with empty eye-sockets. There wasn't anything out here that you'd need shopping baskets for. Cautiously, he edged along the wall, past a gaping doorway, until he was at the corner. He peered around, then allowed the rest of his body to follow his gaze. The alley was completely empty. Mental alarm bells going off at full volume, he quickly unwound the garrotte. If it was a trap, they would not get an easy victory.

He took a step forward.

Something that felt exactly like a tube of very cold gunmetal was pressed against the back of his neck.  
"Can you understand me?" a female voice asked in clipped, oddly accented English  
He nodded, very slowly.  
"Good. Don't move."  
Expecting to be frisked, he readied himself to lash out. But instead, and very unexpectedly, all that happened was that warm fingers joined the gun.

Noah braced herself against the usual mad rush of jumbled images. She could never adequately describe how it felt to, just for an instant, see through someone else's eyes. It was something you never got used to, no matter how many times it happened. The sensation quickly passed as she went deeper. The process could not be controlled anymore than you could walk on water. You always, inevitably, sank.

Memories jumbled past, some clear, others dulled, all sweeping aside the physical world until Hawkeye and the man and the gun were lost in the distance. Sifting the torrent was difficult – she knew she'd only be able to remember a fraction of what she saw when she surfaced again. Through sheer force of will, she managed to focus in on what they needed, snatching at images as they streamed by. Piecing them together, she slowly drew out pictures and words, weaving tapestries from threads of thought. Eventually satisfied and feeling, as she always did, that the flow was becoming too much, that she was in danger of drowning, she pulled away. Her mind drew away and then, after a timeless age, so did her hand.

Hawkeye watched the girl out of the corner of an eye as she went to lean against the wall of the house they'd doubled back through.  
"Are you all right?"  
"Yes."  
Accepting the simple reply, she returned her full attention to the Templar. If reality had been written by the authors of many cheap thrillers, there would have followed an exchange of insults, biting put downs and witty retorts. Since it wasn't, she settled for kicking him hard in the back of the right knee and knocking him out cold as he stumbled.

Having secured the man with the rope that had been among the contents of their 'shopping' baskets and left him gagged under the house's stairs, Hawkeye returned and looked inquiringly at Noah. The Roma took a deep breath.  
"There are seven more Templars in the house across the square, all of them armed. They've a radio set to keep in contact with their institute and they're expecting another group to arrive soon.  
The major frowned.  
"We'll have to move fast then. We could just slip away but I'd like to put a dent in the enemy's numbers first and that means acting before they get reinforcements. What about the compound itself?"  
Noah hesitated, concentrating on sorting someone else's thoughts.  
"It's well guarded, and not just by the Templars. There are security guards and orderlies…but…they're not armed and…I think there is a way to get in…

* * *

It was too much. The armed men in black she could have dismissed as guards – after all, if the Marquis really was nobility, it made sense that he would be protected, didn't it? The scream she had thought she'd heard…well, she had only _thought_ she'd heard it. It could have been anything, a door creaking, the waterworks, a bird outside, something equally mundane. All those little things that had been niggling at her since their arrival at the Institute could have dismissed as the result of fatigue or nervousness or an over-active imagination or any one of the numerous accusations that Graves had levelled at her. 

But that she had heard absolutely nothing about the two injured men was more than enough to leave Helen at the mercy of her curiosity. And seeing one of the black-coated gentlemen carrying a tray of food fresh from the kitchens down into a cellar she had been told was empty provided an irresistible opportunity to indulge it.

Tentatively, and feeling rather like a child sneaking down to spy on the adults, she pushed the unmarked door open and peered at the staircase. By the harsh light of an electric bulb, it was clearly empty. With as light a tread as possible and as quickly as she dared, she descended and crept into the short passage beyond. It quickly split at a T-junction, an arched tunnel leading off left and right. She stopped abruptly as she saw the back of the man and the profile of two of his comrades. They were standing in a group, murmuring to each other in German. From what she could see, she guessed that the object of their collective attention was one of the heavy-looking doors set into alcoves that ran along the tunnel walls. At any rate, she assumed that the near wall mirrored the far: she didn't dare risk leaving the protection of the corner to check. At some length, a key was produced and one of the guards, if that was what they were, proceeded to move out of her line of sight. There was a resounding _clank_ and a soft creak of mildly grudging hinges.

This was followed, almost immediately, by an explosion of extremely irate and positively vulgar English. Helen could feel her ears going red as the voice described what it wished to do to the swordsmen in angry detail and it was only after this wave of embarrassment started to subside that something struck her. There was something about the accent and the voice itself that made her swear she had heard them both somewhere before. But before she could rack her brains on the subject, another voice, presumably the guard's, cut across the tirade.  
"I can have this food put to better use," he grated in the same language, "If you feel so bad about our company, we'll just take it to those who'll appreciate it."  
Amid the resulting silence, there came the distinctive sound of an empty stomach protesting.

The food was passed into…she really did not like the implications but 'cell' seemed the only word that fit the situation, and eating noises emerged. The men stood in tense expectation, as thought readying themselves for an attack.  
"What 's matter?" the angry voice asked, now less vitriolic, "Do we _look_ like we could do anything to you?"  
"Shut up and eat," was the only response.  
Again, Helen felt the nagging familiarity. The accent…it could almost have been a far broader version of the one-eyed soldier's.

Then, all at once, a chill shot down her spine.

"We appear to have a victim of that notorious cause of feline mortality in out midst, Solomon."  
The purr slid over her as an oil slick might, smooth, cold and suffocating. She felt every muscle in her body freeze.  
"It is a most…difficult affliction, is it not?"  
Something caressed the side of her neck, the flat of an icy blade.  
"So insidious…so irresistible…and yet…so problematic."  
The blade was removed. Its touch lingered.  
"Turn around little cat."

She turned slowly and met the Marquis' dark, glittering eyes. He stood only a couple of faces away, holding his sabre loosely at his side. His massive aide loomed behind him, swarthy features composed into an intimidating scowl. The slimmer, shorter and far more terrifying man flashed his teeth.  
"Your services are not required down here, nurse."  
"I…" Words caught in her throat. "I didn't…"  
"See anything, I'm sure," he concluded smoothly, "Nothing memorable, anyway."  
"I…I – ah!"

The sword flashed between them. The Marquis sheathed it in one smooth motion and indicated the stairs with a wave of one gloved hand.  
"Please: don't let us detain you."  
Helen practically jumped, desperate to escape his gaze and the things it promised. But before she could get past, he lifted a forefinger.  
"Oh. And I may be in to check on your memory later. Now run along."  
Unable to retain any dignity in the face of those horrible eyes, she fled.

* * *

With a growl, Luke folded his arms and glared out at the marketplace. Something was going on, but what he did not know what. And despite what some fools would have you believe, ignorance was not and never would be bliss. 

The house they were watching had been emptied. All the occupants had wandered out and into the town, looking for all the world as though they were conducting normal day-to-day activities. First there had been the gypsy girl and the Falconer's twin – although, to be honest, it could have been her for all they knew – taking baskets to the shops. Then the man, a piping tune on his lips, had sauntered towards the nearest pub. Finally, the Elric boy and Falconer – or whoever – had wandered in the direction of the station. After each, Templars had been sent – Abel, Isaiah, then both Lot and Benjamin.

Not a single one of the above had returned. It was making Luke's hair curl with suspicion. He had no doubt that Falconer would know she would stick out like a bonfire on a moonless night to any of the Marquis' men who were in the area. They all knew her by sight. She was probably also aware that a watch would have been kept on the Elrics. Which meant that the covert observation was most likely nothing of the sort…

If their positions were reversed, Luke was pretty sure what he would be doing. And he did not like the implications.  
"Simeon!" he snapped, rounding on the man by the field telephone, "Find out what's taking Issacher so long to get down here."  
The razor thin Dutchman hurriedly set to work with the machine, fearful of the higher-ranking Templar's frayed temper.

But before he could get so much as a single valve warmed up, the back door burst open under the force of a frantic Benjamin. He scrambled inside, clawing at the air, hoarse, incoherent sounds punctuating his panic. Gad sprang to help him and was just in time to catch the air he had vacated as he fell to sprawl face down on the bare floor. This provided them all with an excellent view of the throwing knife sticking out of his back.

A second knife flew through the still open door and caught Gad in the shoulder, sending him crashing down next to Benjamin with a yell. Luke swore and opened his mouth to shout orders, hand dropping to his gun. He thought he knew what was going to happen next and prepared himself to dodge knives. He was wrong. There was a blur of movement and a woman with tightly bound blonde hair proceeded to shoot every man present. Simeon screamed, although whether this was due to the hole in his arm or those in the radio, Luke couldn't say. He was too busy staring at the blood escaping from his leg and crumpling into a kneeling position.

With a practiced movement, the gunwoman with Falconer's face reloaded her weapon and trained it in their general direction. Behind her, the gypsy man entered, followed by Falconer herself, both with their knives drawn. Luke's attention, however, had fixed on the first assailant as it flashed through his mind that he had never before met a female with the eyes of a hardened soldier.  
"The next of you to move," she explained in matter of fact English, "will be dead before you can get half an inch."

Luke believed her and stayed very, very still.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for the continued reviews! Katty008: Foreshadowing...? Well...maybe! As they say, wait and see! _


	20. Chapter 17: The Illusion of Choice

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just using it to avoid work._

**Chapter 17: The Illusion Of Choice**

The open countryside did not seem quite as inviting as it usually did. Knowing that there were people abroad who intended no small degree of harm to you and yours tended to have that effect on even the most pleasant of spots. Which was a shame, Al decided, because right now he could do with some cheering up.

Hawkeye had sent him and Noah on ahead, telling them bluntly that neither would be of use in overpowering the Templars. The young psychic had little experience in fighting and the younger Elric brother, while a more than adequate combatant, lacked the necessary qualifications for dealing with armed mercenaries. Which would be ranged weapons and the killer instinct, he thought bitterly, even if his current feelings bordered on the murderous. If they had hurt Ed…

He pushed those images aside and fought for focus: he had to look after Noah, they had to get into the Templars' base, they had to help Ed and the General. Simple. Except it wouldn't be, but at least they now knew a way in that would be relatively unguarded and therefore reasonably easy to use. That was the hope, anyway.

Noah stumbled, foot twisting in a rabbit hole. Catching her, he tried not to let a sudden burst of frustration show. Every fibre of him wanted to run as fast as possible, to charge and break the gates of the place down. Had he still been a suit of armour, he probably would have already done so.  
"Are you alright?"  
"Yes, fine," she answered quickly.  
_Just as impatient as me_. He smiled and kept a hand on her arm until they were over the rise, as much to offer comfort as support. And to draw it.

They were both dressed in dark clothes, all of which were from Al's limited wardrobe, Noah's usual dresses not being exactly the sort of thing you went sneaking about in. Admittedly, the staff did not exactly lend itself to secrecy either, but he did have practice at moving covertly while carrying it. It felt reassuringly solid in his grip, even if he was none too sure how effective it would be against swords and guns. Which didn't mean he would hesitate to find out if it meant a chance of getting his brother to safety.

The rise gave way to a far gentler downward slope covered in trees. Their path avoided the copse in which Ed and Mustang had been captured, instead working its way around to the opposite side of the fence-enclosed compound. The twilight was making the shadows steadily deeper, offering gratefully received cover. With luck, it would be enough to get them to where they needed to be without the risk of discovery. With even more luck, the information they had stolen from Abel's mind would prove to be accurate.

"This way."  
Noah pointed to the left, where the foliage became thicker before cutting off entirely about a hundred and fifty feet from the fence. Al nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the just-visible buildings.  
"Let's take this slowly," he murmured back, "We're getting pretty close…"

* * *

Mustang watched with considerable astonishment, not to mention some slight admiration, as Ed proceeded to eat at a snails pace. He himself had been unable not to attack the bread and soup at once but his companion had manoeuvred the plate into lap and set about eating with pedantic precision. The contrast with the thrashing, bellowing ball of anger he'd been minutes earlier was as strong as that induced by a light switch. If one had not been previously acquainted with the Fullmetal Alchemist, one might have attributed this sudden slowness to the loss of an arm. Being well aware that he was in fact perfectly capable of demolishing any meal single-handed in a matter of minutes, Mustang let the shock give way to covert amusement and lay back to admire their guard's expression. 

It went, in order, from professional blankness to bored disinterest to mild annoyance to a manful effort at resisting the urge to grind teeth. The process took the best part of a quarter of an hour, by which point Ed had finally got two thirds of the way through his food. One more minute of pointedly careful chewing was too much.

"Hurry it up!" the man snapped.  
"Why?" the youth retorted, swallowing, "I got nothing else to fill the time."  
Now looking on the verge of murderousness, the Templar took a deep, steadying breath.  
"Get a move on or I'll start shoving it down your throat."  
"You don't have to stay and ogle me eating." Ed waved his spoon about. "Do I look like I'll be able to make this into a knife and attack someone? Or start digging a tunnel with it?"  
A low, ominous sound escaped his victim's throat. He gave the briefest of triumphant grins and finished what was left of the soup in thirty seconds.

"There yah go," he drawled, holding out the bowl, "Any chance of seconds?"  
The answer was decidedly negative, what with the empty vessel being snatched away and the door being slammed, both actions undertaken with as much violence as could be mustered.  
"That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble…" mumbled Mustang, a burst of pain from his wounds distracting him.  
"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" came the repost.  
The victory was petty, Ed knew that full well. But it was something. It proved, for one, that he could annoy these people, make them angry. That was good. Angry people made mistakes. He knew _that_ from first hand experience. And if one good thing was going to come from his conflicts with Envy, gaining the ability to wind others up when necessary would certainly be useful.

"Nice of them to feed us," the General said, shifting into a less uncomfortable position, "and with good food too. I was expecting stale bread and water."  
"I've had that. Don't complain."  
"I'm not. I'm just surprised."  
"Yeah. Guess they want to make us feel at home."  
"He did ask for your help."  
No question as to who 'he' was.  
"If that bastard thinks he can soften me up with food, I must have been wrong about the mind reading. Anyway, he didn't exactly _ask_ for help."

Any reply Mustang had been planning to make was cut off, as, with a loud clunk, the door was once more unlocked. It swung outwards to reveal the Marquis, as ever in immaculate black and white.  
"Gentlemen." He spoke in the smooth tones of someone very much enjoying himself. "If you aren't too busy, your presence is requested elsewhere." A thin smile flashed across his face. "Mr Chambers would like a word."

* * *

Noah knew where she was going, despite never having been there before. Navigating from someone else's memories was not like reading a map, more like having a voice whisper directions in your ear. Like many things, the experience no longer unnerved her. What did was being so close to a confrontation with the Templars. Her look into the mind of the man who called himself Abel had been brief but it had left her with no doubts as to what sort of people he and his comrades were. In many ways, they were far worse than the fanatics of the Thule Society – they followed no overriding ideal, they simply did whatever they were paid to do. Violence was not a means to an end; it was the end in itself. An end most of them enjoyed achieving. 

She pulled aside a branch and stepped out into the small clearing. Al emerged behind her, pushing the greenery apart with his staff. Really, 'clearing' was overstating the matter. The patch of tree-less ground was only about a metre and a half square, bare earth broken only by a few ambitious weeds. And, of course, the metal hatch in the centre.

A slab of dull iron, it sat inside low walls of stone blocks, the whole affair buried in damp, compacted earth. There was nothing remarkable about it, save for the fact that as far as the wider world was concerned, there was no reason for it to be there.  
"This is it."  
"I guessed," Al answered, kneeling to examine the hatch itself.  
From the outside there was no sign of any locking mechanism, which, he supposed, was probably a useful design feature. Just not to them. He couldn't see anything that might be an alarm, either, which was hardly surprising.  
"You're sure this thing's unguarded?"  
Noah nodded. He mentally kicked himself. It was a stupid question – she was as sure as the Templar had been.  
"The gates inside are locked but this isn't"

Al glanced around. There was no sign of the others yet, but he hadn't expected there to be. Hawkeye had told them to wait until she, Falconer and Ivan had caught up before going into the Institute itself but that didn't mean they should just stand around doing nothing…  
"Ok…let's see what's inside."  
He set about levering the thing open.

* * *

The cars drew into the yard that backed onto the house, three grey, utilitarian shapes coated in the dust of several miles of road. Hunched over in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, Issacher scowled. He did it well, thick black eyebrows sloping to impressive downward angles. The driver glanced sideways for a second and then looked hurriedly away, licking his lips nervously. 

Something was wrong.

There was no one at the door to the house, no one awaiting their arrival. Nor was there any sign of a stirring from within to indicate the imminent appearance of someone to fulfil those roles. That meant one very important thing: the Templars' procedures were being disregarded. And that set Issacher's mind into concerned motion. Possibilities and probabilities fanned out before him, of mistakes and preoccupation, of accidents and necessity, of disclosure and confrontation. His frown deepened and he let his hand drop to the gun at his waist.

The moment the cars had stopped, he unfolded his gangling body and slipped through the door. He was one of nine Templars who emerged, each of them wearing their black coats and their sabres in plain sight. They made no attempt at concealment. If it were necessary, it was already too late. At a gesture from Issacher, they spread out, wearing expressions ranging from stern to expectant. He scanned the back of the house, looking from window to window, door to roof. First, second and third examinations revealed nothing out of the ordinary. That of course, meant very little. The fourth time, his eye caught the glint behind the downstairs curtain. A metallic glint. Light on gunmetal.

A bullet slammed into the paving as he leapt aside, hand flashing into a 'take cover' sign. The impact easily drowned out the retort. _A silencer_. Job gave a helpless gurgle as a hole appeared in his chest. Issacher threw himself behind the nearest cover, a stack of crates. There was silence. His breath sounded impossibly loud, harsh and shocked. He focused, bringing it under control.

The situation was immediately obvious. A sniper, a good one, a fast one. The observation post had been compromised. Which meant they had to react just as well and just as fast. Having located his troops in various other nooks of shelter, he sent hand signals flashing across the intervening space.

It happened at incredible speed. Two of the surviving Templars broke cover, firing as they came. Bullets hammered into the wall around the window, one smashing an upper pane. Their guns too were silenced, a good thing given the surroundings. Simultaneously, two more slipped around to creep along the side wall. While that was happening, the drivers abandoned their vehicles, snatching bandoleers from storage racks. They hurried around to join Issacher, yet two more of his guards providing covering fire. The sniper scored a hit on one, he didn't see who, and they went crashing to the ground. The lead driver whispered in his commander's ear. Issacher nodded, fingers flicking one more time.

From their bandoleers, the men drew stubby stick grenades, each rendered in black and marked with a dark green band around the base. Another wave of covering fire tore across the window. The drivers drew back their arms. Issacher clapped, softly. The grenades slammed into the base of the house's wall, bursting rather than exploding. White vapour billowed out, rising in seconds to flow up and inwards.

Issacher waited for half a minute then rose, signing for the others to do the same. Guns at the ready, they began to advance.

* * *

_A/N: ARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! Drat, drat and double drat, in that order. I did mean what I said about unloading more frequently but, unfortunately, various crisies and a case of writer's block on this thing got in the way. Hopefully those are all sorted, but now I'm smack in the middle of the essay season. I will be updating as soon as I can but I'd advise no one to go around holding their breath._

_And belated thanks to all those who're continuing to review! I'm so sorry I haven't got round to replying to you all - I promise to try to keep up with that in the future as well. _


	21. Chapter 18: Walking Blithely In

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just getting it lost._

**Chapter 18: Walking Blithely In**

Had Hawkeye been a fraction slower, all three of them would probably have been dead. She sprang away from the window seconds before the gas poured in, driving Falconer and Ivan back. They escaped into the next room just in time to avoid the worst of it; though none of them were fast enough to avoid catching enough to make their eyes stream and their stomachs churn. The back door splintered inwards under the impact of Templar boots. There was no shouting, only shooting, muffled thumps heralding the repeated connection between lead and plaster.

Racing ahead of the redecoration, the major returned fire, far more haphazardly than she would ever have normally allowed. Luckily, the confined space meant that this lapse did not equal a lack of effectiveness. The three of them tumbled out into the front hall, Ivan racing ahead to unbolt the door open while Hawkeye and Falconer kept the invaders at something resembling bay with an interesting combination of bullets and knives. The Templars were hampered by their numbers, especially as the two woman managed to rack up a body count that doubled as a roadblock. After a few, eternal seconds, the Roma man succeeded in wrenching their exit route open.  
"Move!" Hawkeye commanded, obeying herself.

Ivan was incredibly lucky not to have been shot as she collided with his immobile back.

She opened her mouth just as Falconer let out a hiss of despair. Slowly, Ivan stepped aside, allowing the two doppelgangers a clear view of the men standing in the doorway. The men in Templar uniforms. The men with discretely levelled pistols.

At there head was a skinny blonde with a glass eye. It pointed straight and unwaveringly at them while its flesh counterpart roved on a paranoid circuit.  
"Well now," he drawled, "Yah weren't about to just leave, were yah? 'Cause that'd just be plain rude."  
Taking small, careful steps, he crossed the threshold and addressed the men who had just burst dramatically out of the back passages.  
"Sorry fer spoilin' yah fun, Issacher. We saw yah were havin' a bit a fun in here and thought we'd see about helpin'."  
"We had the situation in hand," came the waspish reply.  
"Sure yah did...that's why these lovely ladies were about ta get out inta tha square an' cause a ruckus even ah noble leader culdn't sweet talk himself outta."

He gave the taller mercenary a sickly smile, then transferred it to Hawkeye.  
"Ah'm Daniel, by tha way. An' ah'd be much obliged if yah'd all put them weapons down nice an' slowly." The smile evaporated. "Ah'll be very upset if yah didn't. An' yah wouldn' want ta upset me, now would yah?"

Recognising a no win situation when they saw one, all three did as they were told - Hawkeye impassively, Falconer warily and Ivan with a snarl on his face. Daniel's smile clicked back on again.  
"There now, that's better, ain't it?" He holstered his own gun and spread his hands. "Nearly civilised. We can all have ourselves a nice little chat, can't we...?"

* * *

Being in an armchair was moderately more pleasant than being in a prison cell. That was the single entry on Ed's list of ways the situation had improved. The list of ways he could think of making it better was virtually infinite by comparison and involved, among other things, the return of his auto-mail followed by excessive dismemberment.

The room was still in semi darkness, leaving him with the urge to add a polite suggestion that the bastards buy some fucking light bulbs into the stream of obscenities that was threatening to erupt from his lungs. This wasn't why he couldn't see most of the people nearby, of course. That was because they were all standing behind him and he was not about to look round when the current cause of his less than even temper was sitting behind the desk in front of him. Chambers was watching him silently from over steepled fingertips, staring levelly and unblinkingly. He was still wearing the same glasses, the same drab suit - how the hell could anyone find clothes that dull? - and the same infuriatingly lack of expression.

Somewhere over Ed's shoulder, someone gave the sort of muffled grunt that involuntarily follows from being shoved downwards.  
"Nice of you to make us comfortable," Mustang murmured.  
"I apologise if this does not match your personal assessment of your worth," the Marquis replied, with equal sarcasm and a smirk that Ed knew was there without looking.  
"Enough," Chambers said before Mustang could get in one of the retorts he thought were witty.

The patented Full-Metal glare moved to follow the man as he stood up. If it was noticed, it was not given the dignity of a response.  
"Mr Elric, you have had time to reflect upon our earlier discussion."  
"_Your earlier monologue_," Ed corrected under his breath.  
Not a flicker crossed Chambers' face.  
"Have you made a decision?"  
"Yeah. I decided you're a mad bastard who keeps pet sadists. Can we go now?"  
"I was referring to whether you were going to willingly assist me in my endeavours."  
"I don't remember you asking for my help."  
"Perhaps not but an intelligent man such as yourself would have been unlikely to miss my implication."  
"This would be the implication that if I didn't do what you wanted you'd do things to me that'd make walking naked through Siberia look attractive?"  
"I would do nothing to you."  
"No, that's right. You'd get Mustang Two over there to do it for you. Nice touch having flame-brain beaten up first. It might have worked if I didn't think he deserved it."

Chambers leant his head to the side.  
"Indeed. And that would have been a 'nice touch' if I were not already fully aware of how you feel about the gentleman in question."  
The Marquis chuckled.  
"Don't give the boy so much credit. You don't need clairvoyance to see that he's trying to imitate bravery."

"Imitate?"  
Ed shut his mouth abruptly as Mustang rasped out the interruption. It was partly from wanting to hear what he had to say and mostly from surprise.  
"Edward Elric," the general continued, "may be stubborn, arrogant, surly, uncooperative, unreasonable, emotionally immature and have the personal hygiene of a sixteen year-old pig farmer but the one thing he doesn't have to imitate is bravery. Sophistication and charm, yes, bravery, never."  
Ed's mouth dropped open. It closed quickly, especially when Mustang finished off his speech.  
"He has a complete obliviousness to personal danger. I think someone must have dropped him on his head as a child."

There was a brief silence.  
"Very loyal of you," Chambers acknowledged solemnly, "But we both know there is far more to Mr Elric's attitude to life than that."  
Closing his eyes, Ed made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl.  
"General, shut up and save your strength. Look, _Benedict_, if you want me to actually consider helping you, I'm gonna need a bit more than a buncha vague stuff about remaking the universe. What the hell is it that you actually want from me? What do you need that you can't get from your 'most reliable source'?"  
The man's glasses flashed in what little light there was.  
"A very reasonable question."  
"Yeah. You're still crazy but it'll stop Mustang stealing the spotlight for a bit."

Chambers folded his hands behind his back.  
"While I am perfectly capable of constructing a means of bringing about my goals in abstract, the actual technicalities present difficulties. The necessity of alchemy being performed in this world is one in particular. This requires that two factors be satisfied. Firstly, the matter being transmuted must have its origins in the _other_ world. The matter of this universe would respond to the energies of its alternate but those are, obviously, unavailable at present. Secondly - almost paradoxically - the alchemist involved must be aware of the fundamental nature of both realities, so that he may adequately transpose the required power across the divide in a manner that does not accord with the previously established nature of things."  
"You mean, they need to know everything. Which means they have to have looked into the Gate."  
"Precisely."  
"Or, to put it another way, without a real alchemist like me, you might as well go home and forget this ever happened."  
"Not precisely."  
"What?"  
"I already have the assistance of an alchemist."  
"Right. So, what? He's not good enough?"  
"He is perfectly competent. However, the nature of the reactions I require is such as to make them extremely unstable. One alchemist alone cannot effectively control them. I assure you that if this were not the case, I would not be troubling you."

"Except when it didn't work and you destroyed the world," Mustang pointed out, "I believe you've seen inside my head - did you happen to notice the things the Gatekeepers told me? Any more tampering with the Gate and I'll never get to spend an afternoon alone with my paperwork ever again."  
Chambers looked at him and blinked.  
"I am fully aware of the Gate's current malaise. In fact, I fully encourage it. There is no better time to establish a new order than when the old is crumbling."  
"Right..." Mustang squinted. "And the universe going with it doesn't seem a little bit of a downside because...?"  
"You assume that that is a necessary consequence of the Gate's failure."  
"The Gatekeepers..."  
"Speak only the truth, yes. But that does not mean that they are incapable of deception. After all, they neglected to mention to you the second condition for performing alchemy here, did they not? They speak the _precise_ truth. That is not to say that they speak the _complete_ truth. They are spawn of the Gate, they are _part_ of the Gate. Were it to fall, it would be, for them, the end of everything. That is not to say that it would be the end of _us_."

"_Anyway_..." Ed fidgeted. "Back to you needing another alchemist. Even if you get one, what are you going to do with him? Like you said, you need matter from our world. Where're you going to get that? Mail-order?"  
"I have the necessary material."  
"Yeah? Where -"  
He jerked and twisted to stare, wide-eyed, at Mustang, then glared back at Chambers, who sighed.  
"There is no need for melodrama, Mr Elric. Since I was unaware of the general or major's arrival in this world until recently, they were not even considered as resources."  
"Then what -"  
"Quite apart from the substantial quantities of metal in your possession, the elements contained within Professor Huskisson's bomb were more than enough."

After a short lull while the words struck home, a slow grin broke through Ed's annoyance.  
"Really...? Shame it got stolen, then."  
"Given that it was not, no."  
The grin dissolved into spluttering.  
"What the hell are you talking about?!"  
"The late professor's invention has been most useful, both as a source of matter and as a lure for you and your brother. The replica placed to attract the two of you out into the open gave the Marquis' men a chance to track you once I myself became unable to do so."  
"_Replica_?! WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE REAL ONE, YOU BASTARD?!"  
"Dismantled it. Do you really expect me to have allowed a device of such destructive power to be left in the hands of the military or fanatics? I have no wish to see my world annihilated by the stupidity of the glory obsessed. The components were reduced to their base constituents and cast into more useful forms." He paused. "Of course, that was not the first source I exploited. Objects have been passing through the Gate for far longer than either of us has been alive. Once one knows what to look for and where to seek it, the materials are not hard to find."  
He took a stick of chalk from his pocket and offered it to Ed. He took it warily.  
"What's this?"  
"It is more what it partly is. Others have come through before you. They were of your world."

The chalk flew across the room.  
"You. Are. Insane." A single fist clenched.  
"I am simply using the available resources."  
"You call bones 'available resources'?!"  
"Once they are just bones, they are no more and no less."  
Speechless, seething, Ed very nearly launched himself out of the chair. It was only the physical impossibility of that succeeding that stopped him trying, and even then, only barely.

In a perfectly level voice, Mustang spoke up.  
"Who is this other alchemist? Seems to me that Full-Metal can't make a well informed decision about all this if he doesn't know who you want him to work with."  
The Marquis raised an eyebrow.  
"I'm loathe to say it but he does have a point." He smirked. "If nothing else, having our other guest up here will be...entertaining."

* * *

The ladder ended about two feet before the tunnel floor began. Al discovered this later than he would have liked and after much slightly frantic kicking. He dropped and stepped back, calling up to the square of comparative light far above.  
"I'm down!"  
Riffling through his pockets, he found a box of matches and struck one. A flickering chunk of tunnel appeared. It was arched, built from regular stone blocks - all in all, utterly dull. He walked a little way to the left of the ladder, examining his surroundings. There were pipes hanging from regularly spaced brackets, all of them looking, if not brand new, then as close as they could get without being pristine.

His eyes were drawn downwards to the flagstones underfoot. Or, more precisely, to what ran down the middle of them. A line of metal, barely as thick as his little finger, in the gap between the stones. Curious, he knelt and moved the match closer. The metal was smooth, the line unbroken as far as he could see.  
"Huh..."  
He rubbed his chin. Once it would have been easy to find out what the thing was made of...

With a thump, Noah arrived behind him.  
"Is something wrong?"  
"I'm not sure...look at this."  
She did.  
"Some sort of...rail? Decoration?"  
"No idea...looks...I don't know. It's just odd." He stood up, shaking his head. "But we can't worry about that now. Which way?"  
Noah bit her lip and pointed to the other side of the ladder.  
"That's the way the Templar came the few times he was here. Are we going to wait for Hawkeye?"

Al walked a few paces forward.  
"That's what we agreed...but..."  
The younger Elric scowled, making him resemble his brother far more than usual. He took a few more steps. Noah caught up, glancing sideways at him.  
"But you want to go on now."  
"Brother would, if it were me in there. Heh. Except he'd be going in through the front gate and make sure everyone who got in his way regretted it. A lot. If only..." He sighed and flexed his fingers. "We'll wait. It'd be stupid to -"

Somewhere above, something went click.

Al saw movement just in time to push Noah deeper, out of the way. An entire section of tunnel roof, reaching from them to the ladder swung down, slamming across the path. And cutting off the way back to the surface.

They stared at it, then at each other. Noah's eyes were wide.  
"He didn't know about that...the Templar...he...I didn't know."  
"We're idiots!" Al hit the new wall with the flat of his hand. "We should have thought of that. Just 'cause someone knows something doesn't mean they know everything." His shoulders slumped. He turned, reached out and squeezed Noah's hand, briefly.  
"No point staying here now."  
"Perhaps not..."  
"Neither of us wants to and if this is a trap..."  
He shrugged and took a lantern from his belt, lighting it with the nearly burnt-out match. Then he handed it to Noah and un-slung his staff.  
"Come on. Let's not make it too easy for them to find us..."

* * *

_A/N: Insert the usual ramblings about too little time to get this done and my own inefficiency! But, on the plus side, I'll have at least one more chapter and an intermission in the very near future (chapter's done, intermission will be written quickly)! Anyway, enjoy what's here and once more sorry about the delays!_


	22. Chapter 19: Drawing Together

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just confusing it._

**Chapter 19: Drawing Together**

"Mr Chambers would like the Patient taken up to his office immediately."  
Helen jerked, losing hold of her charge's hand. Anna stood over her, arms folded, expression sour.  
"We have been instructed to _make him decent_."  
"Why..." Trailing off, Helen brushed her skirt and got to her feet. "Now that's a silly question, isn't it?"  
"On the grounds that we are too lowly to actually be informed as to the purpose of our orders, yes my dear, it most certainly is."

The Patient moaned, shifting on the bed. His eyes flicked to the wheelchair.  
"Yes," Helen sighed, "I'm afraid we'll have to move you again."  
He smiled weakly and eased himself into a sitting position. She smiled back and helped him move over to the edge.  
"Anna...have you ever wondered what Chambers...what he does when they're alone together?"  
"Frequently but I find it best not to think about it too much."  
"Yes..." Running a hand across the Patient's head, she frowned. "What do you two do?"  
He looked up at her, silent as ever, and smiled again.

* * *

The Marquis smiled the kind of smile that sent anyone with any sense running for the nearest fortified position.  
"How kind of them to present themselves to us quite so neatly."  
Cain bobbed up and down in front of him. He was someone with sense and despite being technically on the same side as the other man, he retained a healthy amount of sheer terror whilst within a hundred miles of him. And, at present, he would rather be facing down a rabid wolf than giving the Templar commander the kind of news that resulted in him revealing that many teeth.  
"S-sir? Wh-what orders should I relay to Daniel?"

L'enfer considered.  
"I want them brought here immediately, naturally. Tell him to make them as comfortable as he wishes. But I want them all intact enough to be lucid when I finally have the time to deal with them. Especially the women. Make sure he understands that. Completely."  
"Y-yes sir!"  
He saluted and scurried away. The Marquis watched him go with a slight sneer then went back into Chamber's office.

The lights had been turned up now that Chambers himself had departed to God knew where to prepare whatever it was he needed to prepare. This had naturally resulted in a sarcastic utterance from one particular occupant but that was no great price to pay for being able to see clearly enough to catch any escape attempt. Two guards stood by the door, overseen by Solomon. The latter was, as usual, impassive. Their guests were being anything but.

Simply to prevent an excessive amount of noise, they had acceded to the 'requests' that the two armchairs be put facing each other. Elric was contenting himself with perfecting a particularly venomous narrowing of the eyes that would, if left to continue, result in the instant decapitation of anyone who had happened to get in its way. As far as the Marquis could tell, his doppelganger was doing nothing but watch.

Until, that is, he stirred and addressed his fellow prisoner.  
"Tell me Full-Metal...are you actually considering doing what they want?"  
"He is," L'enfer interjected smoothly, "if he has any intelligence to speak of."  
Both the seated men stiffened, going on the defensive in an instant. Neither answered him. Leaning on the back of the double's chair, he scrutinized Elric.  
"Hmm...indulge my curiosity. The two of you clearly don't like each other...which means that you defend each other from respect...or loyalty. Which would make your relationship one between comrades rather than friends. So what are you? Military, obviously, but how so? Equals? No, not if you are a general...he is too young. Commander and subordinate then. Does that mean that alchemists are suborned to non-alchemists...or does that mean that _you_ are an alchemist yourself?"

Silence.  
"Oh, come now..." he purred, "Chambers only lets me in on what he thinks I need to know...and you" - he tapped 'King Bradley' on the shoulder - "were not especially helpful earlier. I'd have been impressed if it weren't for the screaming. And I do so hate being ignorant."  
More silence. He looked from one to the other.  
"Well then...if you are both alchemists, can you at least tell me a little of what it is like to be able to control the world so absolutely? I am looking forward to finding out for myself but...forewarned and forearmed and so forth. If we are to change the world, it would be pleasant to know what to expect."  
Silence persisted.

L'enfer's eyes rolled heavenwards.  
"I've had more productive conversations talking to myself."  
Elric snorted loudly.  
"'Course you have," he sneered, "Doing that's the only way you're able to open your mouth and not piss someone off."  
"And how would you know that?" the Marquis enquired, too pleasantly.  
"Because you two have _some_ things in common."  
"You mean, I annoy you?"  
"Nah. You don't annoy me. No one's going to tell me not to hate you."  
"People tell you not to hate him?"  
"All the time."  
"He gives you reason to hate him?"  
"Oh yeah."  
"And do you?"  
"Excuse me," the person in question interrupted, "I'm sitting right here."  
The Marquis glanced down at him, mouth curling.  
"I know."

* * *

Graves mopped his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. He was not a man who dealt with pressure well and being surrounded by the Templars was far from calming. Particularly Lazarus. The Marquis' 'doctor' made his skin crawl almost as much as the man himself, what with his soft, halting voice and his creeping way of...well, creeping about the place.

"Things appear to...be progressing apace, hmm...Dr Graves?" he said, gliding up to pull some sort of tool out of a cabinet drawer.  
"Y-yes," the Englishman stammered back, "I suppose they are."  
He was trying desperately to find some sort of comfort in watching the nurses manoeuvring the Patient into his wheelchair and failing dismally. It wasn't _just_ Lazarus - there were gun-toting guards by the door and wandering up and down outside in what was probably a very fine and upstanding military fashion - but he was by far the worst. And he was always so damn polite, always so..._efficient_. It was blasted unnatural, almost as bad as Benedict could be when he wanted.  
"Your patient is...much improved."  
"He is."  
Lazarus fingered the tool - whatever it was, some sort of spanner - and followed the wheelchair as Nurse Jameson propelled it the length of the infirmary, Simons tottering along behind her.

Grateful to have an excuse to get away from him, Graves left the Templar standing by the cabinet and hurried to chivvy his subordinates along unnecessarily.  
"Come along, come along! We must not keep Mr Chambers waiting!"  
"Of course, doctor," Simons answered levelly, opening the door for Jameson.  
Stuffing his handkerchief away, Graves followed. So, much to his discomfort, did Lazarus.  
"Dr Graves...would you be...so kind as to pass on a message...to the Marquis de L'enfer?"  
"I...suppose so..."  
"Please inform him that the...devices have been examined thoroughly...and are now reassembled as per my instructions."  
"What devices?"  
Lazarus gave him a tight smile in place of an answer.

Graves harrumphed.  
"Very well. I'll tell him."  
Lazarus's smile widened very briefly.  
"My...thanks."

* * *

The lamplight jerked and darted over the tunnel walls, leading the way to the echoes of their footsteps. The air felt cold and clammy and very, very still. The only noises were those echoes.

Noah had spent the last few minutes surreptitiously examining Al's face. She was rapidly reaching the conclusion that it was far too still.  
"Are you all right?"  
"Why wouldn't I be?"  
"I'm not sure."  
They carried on walking, passing more identical stretches of passage, the path gently curving. There was no indication of an end to it. In fact, now they were quite a way from where the ladder had been, there was no longer an indication of a start to it either.

Al stopped a moment to tap the wall with the end of his staff. It sounded solid.  
"How far do we have to go?"  
"It's quite far...there are five ways in but they're all spaced out and none of them are close to the surface entrance." She moved the lantern closer. "I'm afraid the memories don't help much - he didn't really remember this place very well."  
"It's ok Noah...we couldn't have got in without you." He touched her arm. "You didn't have to put yourself in danger like this."  
She reached up and laid her hand over his.  
"Yes I did." A frown flashed over her face. "And you aren't all right."  
"Err...no...it's just...this place...it's too closed in." He shook himself. "But that doesn't matter. Now we're in here, there's no sense waiting around."

They set off again, the lantern light swinging to and fro once more.

* * *

Helen eased the wheelchair into the main building, careful not to let it slip on the threshold. The Patient gazed about curiously, more alert now than he had been since the accident. With the bandages no longer restricting his head, he was able to indulge the natural human instinct to take in every detail of the world around you. Just to see him so alive was enough to make up for all the pain of having to watch as he had suffered his way back to life. Anna seemed to be just as happy, even if it were tempered by having to walk in Graves' wake. _He_ clearly did not care one way or the other while he had to be anywhere near Chambers and the Templars.

They had a sort of honour guard of the black-clothed soldiers, three in front, three bringing up the rear. It was unsettling to be surrounded by so many armed men, unsettling and, if she were honest and not so caught up in her task, quite frightening. And now she came to think about it, she could not remember there being so many of them out in the open before. Every second doorway was occupied either by one of them or a cluster of orderlies.

Despite how sombre everything looked, she half expected there to be banners and flags waving around every corner.

Chambers was waiting for them, as neat and tidy as he always was. Helen tried again to find some hint of emotion in the statue-like figure and again failed. Graves hurried ahead of them, almost pushing past the Templars before he realised what he was doing and dodged aside instead.  
"Chambers, old man," he blustered, "Hope we didn't keep you. I told Simons and Jameson to get a move on but -"  
"Do not concern yourself, Thomas. Time is not yet of the essence."  
"Ah...I see...oh, err...that Lazarus chappie...he gave me a message for the Marquis de...um...for the Marquis. Would you...I'd rather...if you wouldn't mind -"  
"What is the message?"  
"Oh, ah, yes...it was something about some device or other being examined and put back together or some such."  
"Excellent. Thank you."

Without another word, he left Graves and approached the Patient.  
"Hello my friend. I'm sorry for disturbing your rest again but there is someone here who would like to meet you."  
The young man in the wheelchair made a soft sound that might have been a question.  
"It is Mr Elric," Chambers told him, "Mr Elric and a comrade of his. I apologise in advance if they seem somewhat hostile to you. I would anticipate that Mr Elric's reaction in particular will be less than pleasant. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he may become extremely violent. I say this so that you may prepare yourself."  
Straightening, he spared a glance for Helen and Anna.  
"And I would recommend that you do the same. These men are...less than pleased at the circumstances they find themselves in. I trust that you will both remain professional throughout."  
Slightly perplexed by the statement, they both nodded dumbly.

He turned and walked to the door, opening it without ceremony. Graves waved frantically at the nurses and Helen set the wheelchair in motion. She spent the time it took to get the contraption from the corridor to the doorway puzzling over what she had just been told. For a fraction of an instant after the room came into view, she kept moving.

And then she stopped as though striking a solid wall.

Two chairs sat in front of the desk that dominated the far end of the office. One of them was turned away from the door, its occupant visible only as a tangled mop of black hair sticking up above the back and a hand resting on the nearside arm. The other was facing the newcomers, the man sitting there in full and complete view.

The man.

Helen screwed up her eyes then stared anew, trying to convince herself that she was seeing things, that it was a trick of shadow and light, of tiredness and being overwrought. Logically, though, she knew it could not be. The light was good. She was well rested. Yet what other explanation...

A jolt of the mind took her back to a railway platform, to a brief glimpse of a laughing stranger with a face that he should not have had. The same astonishment had hold of her now as she saw him clearly. It was the same man, even if his clothes were different, dirtier, torn, even if he was now a cripple, his right arm, his left shin, both replaced by empty air. The same face, the same hair, the same eyes...an impossible, incredible ghost sitting there, going pale as shock weighted his jaw down.

A ghost.

Edward's ghost.

But that was completely ludicrous.

Because the boy she had known in London, the boy she remembered laughing at the dinner table, the boy who had been crushed and burned beneath the carcass of an airship, the boy who had been found shattered and twisted, the boy who had been cocooned in bandages to preserve the miraculous flicker of life that remained within him, the boy who had spent five years slowly healing...

That boy was sitting in the wheelchair she was even now gripping onto tighter and tighter in an effort to cling onto some sort of sanity.

* * *

_A/N: I have nothing to say._

_Affix manic laughter here_


	23. Intermission 3: A Flower in the Desert

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having a lot of fun with it.  
_

**Intermission 3: A Flower in the Desert**

Rose had never been a very heavy sleeper. Not for as long as she could remember, anyway. Once, she supposed she must have been able to close her eyes and rest 'til dawn without once waking up, tangled in the sheets and drenched in panicked sweat. But that was before Kain had died, before the downfall of Cornello, before the war, before Lyra, before Ed's sacrifice, before Tawny...

Now phantoms and nightmares haunted her, tormenting her with images of all the terrible things that had been and all those that could be.

She sat up in bed, pulling her limbs free of the bedclothes. Her hair clung to her face, pale and dark mixing haphazardly. There was an ache behind her eyes, a dull, uncomfortable throb, slowly fading as she focused on her surroundings.

The room was far too big, really. But it had been all she could do to stop Mr Armstrong rebuilding the house into a mansion and the compromise was not something she should complain about. And it meant there was plenty of space for the orphans who had yet to find homes elsewhere. Though it made her feel slightly guilty, she couldn't help but be a little thankful that she and Tawny were not on their own. That would have made the dreams so much worse...

Sliding across so she could reach the bedside table, Rose lifted a beaker to her lips. The water was warm but even so it wetted her parched throat and woke her up fully enough for the sounds that filled the house to register properly. Or for them to have if there had been any.

With a frown, she put the cup down and rubbed her eyes. Early morning light was just creeping through the gaps in the shutters, gradually dispelling the greyness that held sway over the sparse furnishings. But there was none of the usual accompanying noise, none of the distant creaks and rustles from the city outside. For one terrifying moment, she thought she'd gone deaf. Then the bedsprings went _sprang_ and the unreasonable fear was gone, leaving only curiosity, especially since the sound had been oddly flat. It was almost as if the air were too thick all of a sudden

She stifled a yawn, threw the covers aside and, after fishing around for a second to find her sandals, got up. Everything around her felt...tense. Expectant. The hush was absolute outside of her movement, so much so that the entire house might have been cut off from the rest of the world. Opening the shutters disproved that theory. The street was deserted and still but it was there. She watched it for a while. Not one dust mote stirred, not one bird, not one cat or mouse or...well, anything.

She decided very quickly that the stillness was not natural.

Turning away, she crossed to the door. The landing was empty, which was hardly unexpected. The other doors were shut, as they should be. She hesitated. The tension was palpable now, all around her. For the first time since awaking, she started to worry. And, as always, her first fears were for Tawny.

His room was first along from hers. She tiptoed to it and went in, as quietly as she could. The bed sat at the far end, beneath the window. The shape under the sheets was huddled up, as still as the air. Hurrying over, Rose breathed a sigh of relief when she came close enough to see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her son was on his side, snub-nosed face peaceful, black hair in complete disarray. She smiled without thinking, laying a hand on his head. So much light and goodness to have come from so much darkness and evil. Was that the equivalent exchange alchemists were so fond of talking about? Sometimes she wondered...

The five-year-old stirred, murmuring in his sleep. She stepped back, smoothing the covers.

And realised, as if finally opening her eyes, that they were not alone.

The figures were clustered around the bed, completely engulfed in their white robes. At once, she knew they were aware of her, but not one of them reacted. They might have been carved from marble.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, half afraid, half simply surprised, "Who are you?"  
"Calm yourself," the tallest said in a deep, hollow voice, "You and your child are in no danger from us."  
"We wish no harm to befall life," was another's reassurance, delivering in softer tones.  
"Who...who are you?"  
"We may be termed protectors," the first speaker replied.  
"Preservers," the second added.  
"Healers," said a third.  
"Gatekeepers," the smallest concluded.

"W-why are you here? What do you want?"  
"There is a gulf we must cross."  
She was unsure which of them had answered.  
"Gulf?"  
"A vast distance, yet no distance at all. We can no longer cross it alone."  
"But why...?"  
"Your child," the tallest told her, "He can help us."  
"Help you? H-how? How can he? He's just a child..."  
Without any of them touching him, Tawny rolled onto his back. He wore no shirt, so the hateful black marks across his brown skin were clear for all to see.  
"He is an anomaly, unique. The Gate within him is more powerful than any other in this world. It was caught in those lines and now cannot fade. That has made him a bridge. A bridge we can and must use."  
"I...I don't understand. Why?"

The Gatekeepers moved closer. One of them held out an arm. Rose flinched away in shock. The black flesh had been torn away, the skin and muscle sliced and cut right down to the bone in some places. It looked as if something had been taking great bites out of it.  
"We can no longer travel on our own. We are too weak. We need a safe passage. He is the last one left."  
"Why...where to?"  
"Another world."  
"Oh...but...why?"  
"There is a threat to all things. The alchemists are merely the first to feel the symptoms. In time, every being will."  
"The alchemists?" Rose swallowed, thinking of Mr Armstrong as she had last seen him, pale and comatose, somehow looking so much smaller, all his usual sparkle gone. "You mean what's happened to them..."  
"Is only the beginning."  
They bowed their heads and the arm was withdrawn.  
"We must go to the other side, to lend what strength we have left to the efforts to prevent more harm being done. Only then may the injuries be reversed."

The woman looked from one Gatekeeper to the next. It was not as if she could stop them, she realised. She was no barrier, she did not wish to be a barrier to their doing whatever they wished. Their presence was enough to stop her resisting, to _know_ they meant no harm, would do no harm, could do no harm. If they had lifted her aside and told her to leave she would have done so without questioning. But they were allowing her to speak as though the choice was hers, to ask them whatever she wished. They were allowing her the dignity of being mother to her child.  
"Will it...it won't hurt him?"  
"No."  
"Then...if you...need to...if you must..."  
She managed to say no more.

The transmutation circle on Tawny's stomach blazed, first purple, then pure gold. The same light rose in a circle around them, sparking and writhing like a living thing. The white robes reflected the vibrant glow, until they seemed to become part of it. Soon it was impossible to tell what was light and what was Gatekeeper. Rose had to cover her eyes - it was unbearably bright. But she could not contain herself and splayed her fingers a little, just enough to see.

She caught a glimpse of an endless white tunnel, teaming with streamers of the golden light. Shapes danced through it, indistinct, strange and familiar. She saw, fleetingly, faces she thought she knew, heard voices from the past, all a long way off.

Then the tunnel was gone and she was falling back into Tawny's room, darkness closing over her mind.

* * *

Tawny woke to the sound of wind buffeting the city. He liked that sound, the rushing and roaring of something far, far bigger than he was. It had scared him once, before he had learned to listen to it properly. Now, he imagined it was a giant breathing, one as big as the desert that puffed and snorted just like one of the store-holders in the square. Sometimes, it was one of the nice ones, like Mr Cole. Others, it was angry, like Mr Prince. But you didn't have to be afraid of it. Not unless you were really, really light. Then you'd get blown away and no one would ever see you again.

His mom was lying across his bed, like she'd just fallen there and not bothered to get up again. She'd been in his dreams last night. He scratched his nose. There had been other people as well. _Strange_ people. And that thing on his tummy, the one mom would never talk about, it'd...started fizzing. That had made him feel all tingly inside. Which had been nice...in a weird kind of way. And those people, they'd gone into the thing, gone _through_ it. And there had been something else, something really, really important that he couldn't remember any more.

He wondered where the people gone after that.

He hoped they'd be ok.

But more importantly, he _really_ hoped mom wouldn't mind him getting her up. He was hungry and she always put the jam out of reach so he couldn't put it all on his bread. And he hated having to eat bread without jam.

Outside, the wind roared louder.

It sounded like it was trying to blow the whole world away.

* * *

_A/N: And I shall now retreat to a safe distance and cower. Yes, I'm stringing out the cliffhanger, yes I'm been totally unscrupulous about it and yes I'll be posting the next bit soon! I do have some sense of self-preservation!_

_Oh, and just generally, based on comments given: I should probably make it clear that I am an author and male with it! This is completely irrelevent but it will, perhaps, mean that my girlfriend won't have quite so much to laugh at me for in future! (A vain hope but there it is...)_

_And far more importantly: thank you all so much for commenting! It's is wonderful to get so much feeback for my rambling scribblings!_


	24. Chapter 20: The Other Alchemist

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just complicating it._

**Chapter 20: The Other Alchemist**

Ed, in a word or two, lost it.

Once he had spent the obligatory half a minute staring, he exploded into a barely coherent rant, of which the only decipherable words were 'impossible', 'bastard' and 'how'. This lasted until he was halfway through frantically jabbing a finger at the offending implausibility, when he cut off abruptly and, if possible, went even paler.  
"_Envy!_" he hissed, breathing hard, "Bastard…have you…but you can't have…he's dead. He has he be. There was nothing left…"  
But what else? However much he cursed and shouted that it couldn't be, there was no escaping the fact that he was staring at someone who had his face. It may have been covered in healing burns, topped with hair that was barely fuzz and attached to a bandaged wrapped body in a wheelchair but it was, without a trace of doubt, _HIS FUCKING FACE_.

And Chambers was just standing there, not smiling, not anything. Like this was nothing big, like this was completely normal, the bastard. Oh, the Marquis was smirking enough for about three of them and the nurse – and hadn't he met her somewhere before? – was gaping uncontrollably…and now he bothered to pay any attention, he realised that the fat man in tweed and the white haired woman looked shocked as well…and Mustang, obviously, looked just a bit surprised…but Chambers? Oh no. Mr Benedict _fucking_ Chambers was as calm and controlled as if he'd just opened the door for the afternoon tea.

"What the hell is _that_?" Ed finished jabbing, pointing accusingly at the…the…at _that_. "What the HELL is _THAT_?!"  
Had Chambers been anyone else, he would probably have given a long-suffering sigh.  
"I would be happy to explain, Mr Elric," he replied, "However, I would appreciate it if I were not interrupted by your wide and occasionally inventive repertoire of obscenities."  
Ed shut his mouth with an audible clack.  
"Thank you. Nurse Jameson, please come inside properly. I would not like him to be sitting in a draft."

The fat man pulled himself together and rounded on the nurse, clearly intending to repeat Chamber's instruction. She had already done as she was told, though, pushing the wheelchair inside so that the door could be closed. Her eyes never left Ed, just as his never left her patient. Once it was possible to do so, one of the Templars closed the door. The silence was utter as everyone waited for Chambers to speak. He did not keep them waiting for very long.

"During the last war, a number of notable academics resolved to continue teaching and researching in spite of the turmoil in Europe. They congregated in London, the effort being organised by the late Professor Donovan. Dr Graves here was part of the group, as was a man who went by the name of Professor Van Hohenhiem, who would go on to become an advisor to the War Office. They took on several students, those too young to be co-opted into the armed forces. Most of them were sponsored in some way, either by their parents or by one of the group's members. One member of the former category was a young man named Edward March."

At this, the invalid stirred, loosing the startled, confused look he had worn since Ed's outburst. Jameson laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  
"He came to London to study chemistry and, by all reports, was most capable. Evidently he impressed Professor Hohenhiem enough to warrant personal interest and significant financial assistance. I myself was aware of the group but not involved but I understand that he proved himself to be something of a prodigy. Had he continued his work, he would most likely have become as notable as he tutors. But then the war reached London.

"There was an air raid. He, like many others, evacuated to land outside the city centre. A damaged airship crashed on top of them. Most of them escaped but eyewitness reports describe Edward as appearing confused, disorientated even. He was evidently unable, for whatever reason, to avoid the impact."  
"Stop."  
Ed closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He pressed his hand to his forehead.  
"He died. He…I…died. I was…we…_we_ died. My soul went back through the Gate and he died. That was…the end. _He died_. I…know he did. Hell, I _felt it happen_. It happened to _me_. It can't be him. _That_ can't be him! It just fucking can't!"  
Chambers regarded him coolly.  
"You are speaking of things you do not understand, Mr Elric. Yes, you were able to traverse the Gate and occupy Edward's body, yes you were sent back. But that is only half the situation. Two 'souls', to use your crude terminology, are not meant to be present in the same body, despite what some mythologies would have one believe."

He paused to consider his next words.  
"When your soul was attracted into the most appropriate vessel, it had – if I may continue with my earlier analogy – a polarising effect upon the soul already present. Indeed, the effect was mutual. As a result, the Gates within each of you exchanged orientations – yours aligned itself to this side, his to the other. When the airship's carcass crushed Edward's body, the Gate, the true Gate, manifested in order to accept the essence of the deceased back into the reservoir. To accept one essence. Since yours was polarised as one from this world, it took you into itself. You somehow managed to transfer yourself across, and in the process the changes were undone. You reverted to your natural state as a being from your world. But for Edward, the Gate shut before he could enter. Simply put, he was turned away and he went to the only place he could: his body."  
"But that shouldn't have meant –"  
Chambers spoke over Ed as if he could not hear him.  
"If that had been all there was to it, he would probably have become what may be called a ghost, a spirit anchored to a corpse. But that was not all there was to it. For Edward did not return alone.

"I was unaware as to the true nature of what he had become for a considerable amount of time. His body was recovered from the wreckage and he was pronounced dead. There was little doubt in the attending doctor's mind about that. It was burnt and crushed almost beyond recognition. Professor Hohenhiem identified it for the authorities. By all accounts, he was most affected by his student's death and mourned him as much as the youth's family. Fortunately, Dr Graves was conducting a study of burn victims and obtained permission to perform an examination before the body was taken from the hospital. It was he who made a truly astonishing discovery. The burns had begun to heal.

"Since he knew me from Cambridge and was aware of my interest in so-called miraculous events, he contacted me immediately. I was already in London, curiously enough to discuss certain matters with Hohenhiem. I'm sure Thomas was only trying to obtain a powerful backer for what he was certain would be the making of his career but I must nonetheless thank him for doing so."  
At this, Graves started spluttering. No one paid him any attention.  
"I organised the substitution of another body and had the by then definitely, if barely, alive Edward transferred to a private institute. Graves agreed to a joint project and, later, organised nursing care for our patient.

"My interest was sparked at once, as I'm sure you will understand. However, it was when I attempted to investigate Edward's mind that it became true fascination. For while I am certain that his brain had been violently damaged by the trauma, I was able to discern fragments. Another mind invading his, other thoughts not his own. Being unable to control himself. A vast gateway, suspended in limbo. A rush of alien knowledge. And, pervading all, an appalling darkness.

"I did not fully comprehend what I was seeing but it tallied remarkably with information I had gained prior to those events. Indeed, it acted as the catalyst for my…education concerning the most fundamental matters. Initially, I made little progress, hampered as I was by possessing only incomplete accounts. This problem was solved when one of the beings you call Gatekeepers came to attempt to correct the 'mistake' that had saved Edward. And she provided me with everything I could ever need.

"I at last comprehended what had happened. When Edward's soul had come before the Gate, a fragment of the parasite within, a creature of the Hunger, had latched onto him. Now it was not especially powerful, indeed it was remarkable that it was able to escape confinement at all. It was carried back to this world and into the body."  
He paused again, glancing at Edward. Ed did as well. His…the other man still looked more vacant than anything else. Chambers carried on.  
"You are aware that the Hunger, once corporeal, sustains itself by consuming souls. In your world, it is possible to provide many of those, neatly packaged as food. Here, that is not an option. It had to be satisfied with the only source of sustenance available. It began to feed on Edward's soul. But given both its relative weakness and the need to preserve such a small quantity, it did so only very slowly. It used what power it gleaned to repair the body, taking a little at a time as and when required. The process was so slow that it was less consumption and more a gradual absorption. At present, it is difficult to know where the soul ends and the faux spirit begins."

"A homunculus," Ed grated, "Are you telling me that that thing is a _homunculus_?"  
"Of a kind."  
"Then your even more deluded than I thought. Homunculi can't be alchemists."  
"Incorrect, as you well know. Singularly, no. But if even the slightest fragment of humanity is present within them, it is possible. The Gate within every one of us is not some quantifiable object; it is infused in every part of what makes us who we are. So long as part of who Edward used to be remains, so long as the Hunger does not consume him completely, he retains the use of his Gate. The Gate you conveniently made capable of powering alchemic reactions."  
This being a suitably final statement, he stopped.

Ed tried to think of something to say. For once in his life, nothing happened. His brain was racing, crashing about in heaps of the past, kicking up Envy, Wrath, London, the airship, the pain of being crushed to death, the radiance of the Gate, the creatures within trying to tear him apart… But his vocal cords were stuck, unable to move let alone form words. Mustang wasn't being any help, just alternating between staring at him and staring at…at the…his…that…at _Edward_.

Who was staring at _him_. Staring with wide eyes that managed to be empty and infinitely inquisitive at the same time. Ed's stomach turned. The…thing opposite him was a…a _monstrosity_, a warped copy, a distorted reflection, something that wasn't even a homunculus but in between, a corpse with aspirations of being a zombie, a fucking _mistake_.

That did it.  
"You…show me…that…" He struggled to find an adjective bad enough. "_That_, and you expect me to help you? You expect me to do anything that you want after this? He's…_it's_ a… It should be dead. It should have been destroyed!"

Chambers threaded his fingers together.  
"He, Mr Elric, is nothing more or less than an alchemist. And I have every confidence that you will do exactly as I wish. If, however, I am mistaken, I am sure I will be able to convince your brother to take your place."  
He let that sink in, crossing to stand beside Edward. Ed bit his lip against the nasty, creeping suspicion of how Al would react if Chambers put his threats to him. His brother wasn't a soldier, wasn't good at bluffing with people like the Templars, people who couldn't be sweet talked or charmed.

He jerked. Chambers wasn't finished.  
"I doubt I will have to. As you are aware, the fabric of the Gate has been impaired. That will only get worse. It is within my power to accelerate the destruction to the point beyond which repair will be impossible. And then, Mr Elric, you will be faced with a choice between doing as I request or standing back and watching everything go to nothing."

The thing that had been Edward March made a soft mewing sound and smiled.

* * *

_A/N: Whew. takes deep breath Sorry about this being a bit of a monolithic monologue. Chambers isn't exactly the best storyteller out there. I hope it all makes sense. If it doesn't, please tell me. I'll go back and try to make it clearer and replace it the next time I update. Which will be in a while, I'm afraid. Exams desperately needed revision need to make more time fan-fiction on hold 'til they're done my apologies._

_But I didnt leave you all with my last cliffhanger, so I hope I get points for that!_


	25. Chapter 21: No Choice

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just drawing it out._

**Chapter 21: No Choice**

Although they did not know it, the cell Falconer and Hawkeye were pushed into was identical to the one used to contain Ed and Mustang. The two women assessed every inch of it independently within the space of a pair of searching glances. As the door slammed shut, they dropped resignedly onto opposite bunks. Neither of them spoke.

Hawkeye was well aware that things could have been worse. She had certainly been searched by people who had been far more...personal about it. The downside was that that same professionalism meant the only weapons left to them were teeth and nails. And she was unlikely to do any great damage with nails as short as hers. On the other hand, they had been neither harmed nor restrained, if you did not count the heavy metal door between them and the rest of the world. They had not been given reason to believe Ivan's situation was any different. Most importantly, they were close to Ed and the Brigadier General, and Al and Noah were still free.

Her conclusions were not optimistic but they were not completely hopeless either. She looked up and focused on Falconer. The other woman - it helped to just think of her that way - was completely still, as though she scarcely dared to breathe. She had been like that since they had been captured, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone, staying completely silent. Concern had Hawkeye's brow creasing slightly.  
"Elizabeth?" she said softly, "Elizabeth. Look at me. Please."  
Falconer shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.  
"I can't..." Her voice was small. "I can't..."  
"Calm down. Elizabeth. I need you to be thinking clearly, you understand?"  
"I can't..." she repeated, "I can't face...him...again...I can't. I'm sorry..."  
"I don't need apologies," Hawkeye chided, "I need someone in a fit state to help me."  
"You...you don't understand. I just...can't."  
"Whatever this man did to you, you can't let it destroy you."

A flash of anger closed Falconer's down turned face.  
"That's easy enough for you to say."  
"I've met sadists. Seen...what they can do."  
"Not one like him," she retorted.  
A harsh bark of mirthless laughter escaped her lips and she rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. At last, she looked up too.  
"I wouldn't be so bad if I still had my knives. It's being defenceless..."  
Hawkeye narrowed her eyes.  
"You can still bite. You're not defenceless."  
"Hah." Falconer looked down again. "He doesn't care about that..."

It was impossibly disconcerting to see yourself so beaten and helpless. Hawkeye had always taken some pride in being prepared for almost every eventuality and ready to improvise her way out of anything else. Part of that was a conviction that there was no such thing as an utterly impossible situation. Working effective covert ops during the Eastern Rebellion had been 'impossible'. Getting the Flame Alchemist organised had been 'impossible'. Getting a twelve year old accepted into the State Alchemist programme had been 'impossible'. Defeating the aerial attack on Central has been 'impossible'. Ultimately, there was a solution to everything, even if it was not a very pleasant one.

But all that was the opinion of Riza Hawkeye, not Elizabeth Falconer. _She_ was absolutely prepared to accept that there was no chance and give up, no matter what she was told.

Irritation coloured Hawkeye's thoughts.  
"_Listen_," she began.  
The door clicked, the lock drawing back. The major rose to her feet, unwilling to have whoever it was looking down on her. A Templar entered, holding the door open. And in walked the Marquis L'enfer.

To her shame, she was caught off guard by his appearance. The single, astonished syllable escaped Hawkeye before her common sense could stop it.  
"_Sir_?"  
He smiled and any possibility of his being Roy Mustang miraculously healed evaporated.  
"Well, that's a good start. You, I take it, are Miss Falconer's counterpart. She never greets me so willingly. Do you, Elizabeth?"  
Falconer had frozen even more. The Marquis glided towards her, reaching down to place a gloved finger under her chin.  
"Nothing to say?" he whispered, "How rude of you. But nothing we won't be able to fix."

He whirled suddenly and placed his hand on Hawkeye's cheek. She flinched, mouth twisting in distaste. He stroked the skin under her eye.  
"You aren't afraid of me, are you? How...convenient. Instilling fear is always far more interesting than discovering it waiting for you." His smile faded. "Unless you _are_ going to tell me where Elric's brother has got to, here and now?"  
Hawkeye said nothing. The smile returned.  
"I thought not. Hm. Your clothes would disgrace a goatherd." He turned away and addressed the guard. "See to it that these ladies are provided with more appropriate attire. Inform me when they have been made presentable. Oh." Pausing, he glanced back. "I don't suppose there is anything 'King Bradley' especially enjoys seeing you wear?"  
Unsurprisingly, he got no answer. He smiled once more.  
"Ah, well. It will have to be what I enjoy seeing Falconer wearing, then."  
With that, he prowled away, the guard stamping after him. The door crashed back into place, cutting out the extra light from the passage outside.

As Falconer slumped onto her side, staring straight ahead, Hawkeye was left to consider that there was something fundamentally wrong when a man like that could walk around with a face he in no way deserved.

* * *

Ivan paced up and down in the way one man can when in a cell made for two. Nobody came in to gloat over his capture, so he was left to his own thoughts. After a while, he sat down on the edge of one of the bunks. After another while, he swung his legs up and lay back, leaning as comfortably as he could against the wall.

After all, he thought, if he was going to have to wait around, he might as well use the time to get some rest. Eventually, his eyes closed and he began to snore.

* * *

The walls were being resolutely unhelpful in that they showed absolutely no inclination to transform themselves into ways out. Al scratched his head, uncomfortably aware that they had been walking through the tunnels for far longer than was either healthy or useful. He experienced a twinge of longing for a body that could break through solid stone and was never bothered by hunger, aching muscles or claustrophobia.  
"Perhaps we should have taken that last fork," Noah suggested, "We could go back..."  
"Yeah..."  
Neither of them moved.

"If this is a trap," Al said, shuffling his feet, "why hasn't anyone turned up to catch us?"  
"I don't know. Perhaps they don't know we're here."  
"Then it's not a very good trap, is it? Why build it?" He chewed his lip. "Unless it's some kind of experiment..."  
"If it is, the Templars weren't told about it." Noah frowned. "I think we've passed by some of the places where there were supposed to be entrances into the institute but..."  
"We didn't see them. They could have been bricked over or..."  
He realised he was wasting time. Taking the lantern from Noah, he walked a few paces further along the tunnel. When the light revealed nothing but more blank brick, he came back.

"We'll try the last fork," he announced decisively, "Even if it doesn't lead anywhere, we'll have checked."  
"All right," she agreed, "And...if it does lead somewhere?"  
"Um...we find out where."  
She smiled slightly and took the lamp back.

* * *

Hands shaking, Helen accepted the glass of brandy Anna held out for her. The older nurse promptly poured herself a similar measure and slowly collapsed into the other chair. She sipped at her drink. Helen did not.  
"These people are quite mad," Anna declared, "Quite, quite mad."  
Helen nodded silently, clutching her glass.  
"What do we do?" she asked hollowly.  
"What can we do? I cannot see us simply walking out of this dreadful place and going home, can you?" Another sip of brandy and a resolved expression came upon Anna. "No, my dear, we must persevere and pray that we will escape unscathed. I can see no other practical course of action."

Helen nodded again. Then spoke, barely able to force the words out.  
"But what about Edward?"  
Anna sucked air in through her teeth, hesitating.  
"They clearly need him for something...I'm not sure that they intend to harm him."  
Her companion looked anything but reassured. She tried to think of something more but could not come up with anything that would not sound trite and condescending. Instead, she reached out and patted Helen's hand.  
"We must carry on. There is nothing else we -"

She was interrupted as the door flew open and Dr Graves stumbled in. Blearily realising that the room was occupied, he lurched towards the table.  
"Simons, Jameson...is that brandy, there?"  
"It is, doctor," Anna told him.  
Pointedly ignoring the sharp whiff on his breath, she poured him a small dose.  
"Thank you," he huffed gratefully.  
He hovered awkwardly next to them, clearly at a loss when neither of them offered him their chair.  
"I say," he said, "This is a rum business, eh? I just left Chambers chatting with Edward. Or as much as you can call that a chat. About this Elric fellow, as it happens. Didn't understand most of it."  
No response was forthcoming. He fumbled with his glass and drank deeply.  
"Well. Have to get along. Sure Chambers will need you to shift Edward in a bit."

Swaying as he walked, almost forgetting to put the glass down, he departed. Anna sniffed disdainfully.  
"At least we know how _he_ intends to cope with all this."  
Having still not touched her drink, Helen showed no indication that she had heard.

* * *

The Marquis strode through the corridors of the Institute, Solomon at his side. A triumphant smirk played around his mouth.  
"I think I am going to enjoy this evening," he confided, "if only for the novelty of the situation. Perhaps we should invite my...twin along as well. I think he might appreciate the exercise..."  
He trailed off as he noticed Issacher and Daniel standing up ahead. They were clearly arguing, although very quietly.

"So yah had it 'completely under control', did yah?" the glass eyed Templar drawled sarcastically.  
Issacher bristled.  
"_Yes_," he growled, "we did. You did _not_ have to interfere."  
"Good job ah did though. They were about ta get out inta the street...which might have raised some...difficult question with tha local authorities."  
"They would not have -"  
"Of course they wouldn't have...yah'd have caught them at tha last second, would yah?"  
"We -"

"Gentlemen, please," the Marquis intruded smoothly, "This bickering does not suit you and, besides, all has ended well."  
"Sair," Daniel acknowledged, grinning.  
"Sir," said Issacher, far more stiffly.  
"Excellent." L'enfer laid a hand on the hilt of his sabre. "Your timing, Daniel, remains impeccable. I may need your assistance later, if that will not present you with any unendurable inconvenience."  
"Ah'm sure it won't, sair. Ah take it our guests are settled in?"  
"They are. None of them appears overly happy with the accommodation but I suppose we must expect such ingratitude."  
"What about the gypsy?" Issacher asked, spitting the last word.  
"I have no real interest in him."  
"Then perhaps we should shoot him now."  
The Marquis arched an eyebrow then shook his head.  
"I think not. He might prove to have a use outside of satisfying your thirst for blood. If he doesn't, you can do what you like with him. But for now, restrain yourself."  
The gangling Templar scowled but submitted to the order.  
"Yes sir."

"Sir!"  
As he came bolting down the passage, Cain's face was flushed and panicked. He was clutching a sheaf of papers to his chest, apparently afraid someone was going to try to mug him for them. Clattering to a stop in from of them, he snapped a terrified salute. The Marquis's gaze swept over him lazily.  
"Is something the matter, Cain?"  
"M-mr Chambers, sir. He says he wants to start immediately!"  
Daniel jerked in surprise.  
"Ah thought he was waitin' until we had the other Elric kid?"  
"So did I," the Marquis replied sourly, "But if Mr Chambers has changed his mind, we must act accordingly. Cain - I want the gates closed and locked, the guard around the boundary doubled and as of now, movement between the different blocks is restricted. You two, go with him. Make sure he does his job properly. Solomon, stay with me."

The lower ranking Templars hurried away. Solomon turned to L'enfer, as impassive as ever.  
"So," he said slowly, "We finally see if we've been wasting our time."  
"We haven't," was the hushed response, "I've seen what he can do. What he's capable of. We haven't been wasting out time."  
"Even so."  
"Do you see any choice? He still has the upper hand."  
"He's still human. We don't have to do this."  
The Marquis laughed.  
"Yes we do. Of course we do. Besides...the chance that he can do everything he says he can...the chance to be able to...turn lead into gold, dust into diamonds...it's a pretty lure."  
"Lures are."

Laughing again, the Marquis brushed dust from his sleeve.  
"Thank you for your continued paranoia, Solomon, but this time I think that is all it is. Come. Let us go and see why Mr Chambers is suddenly so eager to be hasty.

* * *

_A/N: Holey Molley. Some hiatus, huh? Essays, exams, various other stuff, and life in general have been getting in the way of this for far too long. I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting, everyone. I'd say it wouldn't happen again but I'd lay good money that it will. That's the bad news. The good news is that there is at least another chapter written and ready for posting and we are FINALLY getting to the bit were everything starts going to heck in a handcart, so expect a lot of fireworks to come!_


	26. Chapter 22: Reactants

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just using it to end the world._

**Chapter 22: Reactants**

Mustang's eye was fixed on wall in front of him. It had been fixed on one spot for the past hour or so. If the circumstances had been different, he would have gotten bored a long time ago. As it was, he was kept from that by the constant struggle not to look sideways.

He did not want to see Ed's face.

The younger man had not said a word since they have been dumped back in the cell. He had said nothing at all since Chambers had delivered his ultimatum. Mustang could only imagine what was going through Fullmetal's head. He was having a bad enough time thinking about it without being the one who had to decide...well, the fate of the universe seemed about the right description.

He tried to imagine what it would mean for everything to collapse into nothing. It was impossible. How could you even begin to grasp something of that magnitude? The only thing that came to mind was the unreasoning, unfathomable fear that he would never see anyone he knew every again, never be able to say or do all the things he had always meant or wanted to. That and the faces of all those who would be waiting for him if he ended up in one of the afterlives he did not believe in.

Thrusting that aside, he tried to work out how they were going to escape.

And immediately wished that he had a more optimistic nature.

* * *

Chambers did not turn around when the Marquis came in. He was too busy speaking quietly and precisely to the huddled figure in the wheelchair. His face, turned side on to the door, was no more alive with excitement and impatience than usual. In fact, the signs of a man who was hastening an attack on the gates of heaven were noticeable only by their absence.

"Mr Chambers: might I have a moment of your precious time?"  
The question was at first ignored in favour of a pause to allow the Patient to give a nod and a mewl.  
"Good, Edward, good," Chambers told him, "Now. Show me."  
A raw hand extended, landing palm down on the tabletop. There was the barest, briefest flash of light and a perfectly spherical cloud of dust rose into the air. It quickly dissipated but Edward seemed incredibly pleased with himself.  
"Very good," Chambers said, although there was nothing in his voice to indicate the slightest degree of pleasure.

The drab man finally deigned to pay attention to the Marquis. Empty, searching golden eyes followed him as he straightened and approached the mercenary.  
"I take it you have some complaint about the sudden acceleration of our work."  
"Very perceptive of you. Why?"  
"If you mean, why the acceleration, it is quite simple. The forces that oppose us have gained unexpected assistance. They may be able to breach the defences that have so far prevented their direct interference."  
"I see." L'enfer's tone was neutral. "And what happens if they succeed?"  
Chambers looked at him levelly.  
"You recall the incident at the hospital?"  
"Ah."  
"Precisely. I was barely able to contain a single entity. More would be...inconvenient. Hence the need to advance faster than I originally intended."

The Marquis accepted the answer. His memory had jumped back to a dim room and something horribly bright pressing down on the insides of his mind. He shook himself out of the stupor quickly.  
"Very well. I shall make sure everything is prepared. Do you want Elric moved to the inner room?"  
"Not yet." Chambers half-turned back to Edward. "An hour. He will need his false arm back first. Don't bother with the leg. Make sure Lazarus has put it back together precisely as he found it. I don't want to be delayed by a mechanical failure."  
"I'll see to that at once."  
"Good. Oh." He hesitated once more before going back to his charge. "Please check the trap tunnels."  
L'enfer frowned.  
"None of the alarms have gone off."  
"I am aware of that. Please check anyway."

* * *

Al rattled the bars, or tried to. They were solid, running floor to ceiling, completely blocking the way. He glared at them for about fifteen seconds and then kicked them, hard. All that achieved was an ache in his toes.  
"Damn."  
Noah, who had been checking the bars on the other side of the tunnel, came over and laid a hand on his arm.  
"There's no way through," she said, matter-of-factly, "We should go back and carry on the way we were going."  
Not really listening, Al attempted to wedge his staff between and across the barrier, trying to get purchase so that he might be able to force the bars from their settings. Noah's grip tightened.  
"You'll break your staff."

He knew she was right but..._damnit_! This was progress at last. You didn't block off a tunnel that didn't lead anywhere. This was a way in, a chance to get somewhere, a step closer to Ed and...and they couldn't damn take it! He kicked out again, frustration warping his normally calm face into something almost like rage.  
"Al!"  
A cool, tingling sensation spread from Noah's touch, shooting up his arm and into his spine. He jerked away as she let go, just as shocked as he was.  
"I'm sorry!" she blurted, "I didn't mean to -"  
"What was _that_?"  
The question was not angry, simply astonished.

The psychic blushed furiously.  
"I don't know. It's happened before...when I've been reading people...suddenly everything becomes much clearer...and they react like I'm burning them..."  
"It didn't. It was...cold. W-why doesn't...?"  
"I think it's me. That I'm pressing too hard or...forcing my way in, not just skimming over the top."  
Regaining some measure of composure, Al pushed fingers through his hair.  
"O...kay. That...I suppose that makes sense."  
"I'm sorry," she repeated, then steadied herself, "We should go back."  
"Yeah...I know...it's just..."  
"So close."  
"Yeah."  
He looked down at his feet, at the dust on the tunnel floor.

And frowned.  
"What the...?"  
Dropping to a crouch, he rubbed away at that dust, clearing an already holey patch, revealing a thin metal line, laid into the stone.  
"Another rail?" Noah asked.  
"Looks like it." Inspiration dawned, throwing aside the scowl. "Come on!"  
Practically at a run, he raced off, back up the side passage. She caught up with him at the junction, not sure how he'd managed to avoid running straight into the tunnel wall. As soon as she brought the lantern into range, he was down on his knees, frantically brushing at the floor.  
"Look!" he called excitedly.  
She looked.

The rail from the side tunnel crossed the main tunnel until it reached the line running along the centre. They met at a point encircled by a ring of slightly paler metal, which was itself surrounded by odd little symbols, painstakingly chiselled into the flagstones. Symbols she recognised from the thoughts of the boy who was even now tracing them with a fingertip.  
"That's..."  
"Alchemy," he completed, "It's part of an array. These metal lines...they're all part of an array. It's..."  
He broke off, leaping upright, glancing back and forth. Noah held the lamp up, letting the light shine on the gaping arches. She tilted her head back.  
"The pipes."  
Al looked up too, spotting the way they were joined, from side tunnel to main, a circlet of copper welded around the connection.

"These tunnels..." Noah began, hardly daring to speak words borrowed from someone else.  
She did not have to finish the sentence. Al did it for her.  
"These tunnels _are_ an array."

* * *

A sigh of satisfaction accompanied the smooth motion of the mechanical fingers, Lazarus' flesh and blood digits moving them this way and that.  
"I just have to reattach the outer casing..." he informed Solomon, "...and then it should be ready."  
"Good."  
The taciturn soldier was standing by the workroom door, unwilling to penetrate further into the sterile place. He checked his watch.  
"Should the boy be brought here?"  
"It would be best...I am not entirely certain how the attachment process works. I should like my equipment to hand."

Solomon grunted and made to leave.  
"Sir...?" Lazarus called.  
The bigger Templar halted. The doctor's eyes were eager.  
"The leg...if we are not to attach it...would it be acceptable for me to continue dismantling it?"  
He got a shrug for an answer.  
"I haven't been told you can't. Be my guest."  
Lazarus shot him a short, tight smile of pure glee.  
"Oh...excellent."

* * *

The weight of the wheelchair was a comfort in Helen's hands, a solid, familiar point in a world gone mad. She just wished she could be pushing it in the opposite direction and as fast as possible. The longing to get away from the madhouse - and more importantly, to get Edward away from it - was growing to be unbearable. Especially since there was nothing she could do about it.

"This way, Jameson, quick as you like."  
Dr Grave's words were still slurring slightly. A burning resentment towards the man who had brought them all here kept her from feeling any sympathy for his condition. If he couldn't bear the strain of the place without turning to drink, he should have never have come. None of them should. Anna, at his side, huffed. He did not notice. Helen doubted he noticed very much of what was going on. He was just following the black-coated figure leading the way deeper into the building.

They slowed to manoeuvre the chair down a flight of steps. Edward watched them all silently, attentively following their progress. Sometimes his neck would twist like an owl's with the effort of keeping someone in view. He seemed fascinated by everything that changed around him, determined not to miss a second of it all. The procession passed into a whitewashed passageway and then into a square anteroom of some kind. At the far end stood a heavy wooden door.

The Templar saw them inside then hammered on that door. After a few minutes, it swung open, revealing the uninteresting form of Mr Chambers. His dull gaze settled on Edward.  
"Ah, good. We will have to leave the wheelchair here. Please carry him inside."  
Obediently, the Marquis' man came over and scooped the Patient out of it as though he weighed nothing at all. Edward's face split in a grin at the sudden elevation.

Helen looked from him to the grey spectre in the doorway and shook.

* * *

The bunk was not meant to be comfortable. After so long lying flat on his back on top of it, his body was protesting very loudly indeed. He was ignoring it, not so much from stubbornness as a complete disinterest in anything connected to his body. His attention was elsewhere, in futures that could be, in possibilities that were looming ahead, horrendously possible.

Al...

That thought hung over the rest, a guillotine ready to fall at any moment. It was the one thing Chambers could hold against him and be absolutely certain that it would work. The knowledge that even if he did not do what the man wanted, his brother would. Not that being able to destroy everything was an insignificant advantage. It just paled in comparison.

He knew that Chambers meant every word he had said. The idea of helping him and that..._thing_ made him sick in the stomach, but there was no way around it. Ed was going to have to do what he was told. He was going to have to help a lunatic break down the laws of existence and build them up again in a different order.

Because that was the only way he was going to get close enough to fight back.

He had not told the Bastard Colonel what he was planning. There was no way to do that without alerting the people who were no doubt listening in on them. Besides, he did not want to get the man involved. The wounds the Marquis had inflicted were still harsh against his otherwise feverishly pale skin. He was in no fit state to help Ed take on an army.

Not that he intended to. Chambers would have to give him his arm back before he could do anything. Strictly speaking he did not need it to do alchemy but _Gate_ alchemy? That was another matter. That would require a kind of fine control he would never manage through the cumbersome, unpractised methods otherwise available. Chambers knew that. He had no choice but to return the auto-mail. And when he did...

Ed had been caught in surprisingly few alchemic backlashes given how frequently he attempted untested reactions. Something to do with the knowledge the Gate had granted, he assumed. But he sure as hell knew how to make those sorts of reactions fail. Granted, deliberately doing so while you were directly involved in the process was a flashy way of committing suicide. But that was a small price to pay to ensure that the threat to Al, the world, everything, was ended for good. _And it's not as if I haven't been down this road before_, he thought bitterly, _You'd have thought trying it once would have been enough_.

When they came to take him away, he did not even offer a token resistance.

* * *

_A/N: And so things begin to happen! I intend to have the next chapter done within the week - would have it done sooner but have to go down to London for a bit...stay tuned!_


	27. Chapter 23: Inherent Instabilities

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just throwing it about the place._

**Chapter 23: Inherent Instabilities**

The agony of auto-mail reattachment had given way to a dull throb, one that stretched between his neck and the port in his shoulder. This was in no way helped by the hands under his arms, holding him up so that he could be dragged off to wherever it was they were dragging him off to. Ed felt quite proud when he managed to resist the urge to ask them why the hell they couldn't be bothered to get him a wheelchair.

He was not about to risk the chance that they would get him one. Some indignities were worse than others.

The auto-mail itself was worrying him more than a little. It was pretty obvious that someone had been messing about with it. When he had tested it in the infirmary, with 'Doctor' Lazarus leering down at him, something had felt off. The jointing was too tight around the elbow and he could have sworn that something started grinding the first time he flexed his fingers. Admittedly, the arm had been tuned by guesswork for far longer than was probably good for it but at least he and Al had done that according to how ITS OWNER thought it should feel...

A set of steps provided with Templars with ample opportunity to try shaking his head off his neck. He snarled at them, provoking an especially jarring wobble as they got to the bottom.  
"Careful with him," someone purred, "We don't want him damaged prematurely."  
The Marquis and his hulking sidekick materialised in their path. Ed grimaced.  
"You know what'd look good with that sword?" he ground, "An eye-patch. How about I rip your eye out so you can see what I mean?"  
A languid smirk deflected the suggestion.  
"Having seen the effect already, I think I will abstain from taking you up on that offer. Take him in."

A clutch of nervous faces awaited them in the anteroom. The nurses and the fat Englishman were huddled on chairs in the corner, all of them looking like they wanted to be somewhere - anywhere - else. Two more Templars were waiting with them. Ed recognised neither but took an instant, particular dislike to the stringy blonde man leaning against the wall. He bore a vague resemblance to Havoc, if you took out all the charm, looks and nicotine stains.  
"Sair." He tossed the Marquis a salute. "Perimeter secured and Issacher's takin' a squad down inta the traps. Looks like one a tha main alarms failed."  
"At least Cain finally noticed we had a problem. Thank you, Daniel. I assume you want to stay for the show?"  
"Ah wouldn't mind, sair."  
"Then unless you are needed elsewhere, you may stay."

The Marquis raised a gloved fist and beat on the big wooden door. It opened at once. Chambers was already looking past him, straight at Ed.  
"Bring him inside immediately, if you please."  
Their leader stepping aside to let them by, the Templars hauled the alchemist over the threshold. The room was big and circular, with gated openings at regular intervals around the wall. The ceiling was high enough and the lighting poor enough that it was hard to tell what was up there. The bare stone floor was inlaid with a pattern in metal, a vast circle filled with lines and curves, all building into a horrendously complicated network. And that was not all. More lines radiated out through the openings, disappearing into the dark

Although he only did so in the confines of his thoughts, Ed had to admit that it was one of the most impressively complex arrays he had ever seen. There was no way he would be able to work out what every part of it was supposed to do with just a few glances. That was a disconcertingly new experience for him. Normally, he had been able to discern the basics of any array on sight, even if the fine detail eluded him. This... This was too big, with far too much fine detail. It was the sort of array he would never, ever attempt to activate without spending a week going over every inch.

At Chambers' direction they dropped him on the edge of the circle. Opposite, the Thing with his face knelt on a cushion, vacantly curious about the one-legged heap glaring at it. The soldiers left quickly, clearly unnerved by the place. The door slammed after them.

There was a brief moment of quiet.

Chambers walked around the room, his shoes clicking on the stones. Ed pushed himself into a more comfortable position. Edward shifted too, fidgeting a little.  
"What now, _Benedict_?" Ed hissed.  
"Now we begin, Mr Elric," the man replied simply.  
"And what do you expect me to do, exactly?"  
"Edward and yourself will activate the array. I will control it."  
"Huh. You expect me to activate _that_? Without knowing what it does? I know you're crazy but _please_..."  
"Is there a problem?"  
"Only that you're expecting me to make it work when I don't have a frickin' clue what it does."  
"You do not need one to activate it."

Without another word, he moved to the centre of the pattern. Ed snorted.  
"Oh, yeah, great place to stand."  
He switched his attention to 'Edward'. The mockery of a reflection did not avoid his eye, quite the opposite. It seemed to be entranced by him.  
"I hope _you_ frickin' well know what you're doing," the subject of its attention snapped.  
"I assure you he does," Chambers said before Edward could make a sound, "It is time, Mr Elric."

Ed contemplated trying to delay some more, but decided that he was just putting off the inevitable. He had once been told that people who had resigned themselves to death were filled with a sense of peace. From experience, if that were true, peace felt like pain and a deadening numbness, in which case everyone was welcome to it. He held his hands a little way apart, focusing. Not on doing what Chambers was ever so politely ordering but on blowing a massive hole in his array just as his pet freak show powered it up. He imagined that being atomised would hurt less than a zeppelin to the head or a spike through the chest.

As he clapped, he saw Edward copy him, which was extremely creepy, despite the gesture looking clumsy and unpractised. Something about that set alarm bells off in Ed's head but his hands hit the circle before he could work out what.

* * *

As soon as he had worked out what they were caught in, Al had set off at a sprint. It was all Noah could do to keep up, the lamp swinging wildly in her hand. They passed three intersections, each one with more joined rails and alchemic symbols. The frown on the boy's face got deeper with every junction, his attempts to work out the function of the designs growing more panicked.  
"This doesn't make sense!" he protested as they left the third side tunnel behind, "These should be...but they're...and that's...this just doesn't make sense!"  
"What do you mean?" she demanded breathlessly.  
"Well...you've seen all those components...what have they got in common?"  
"They're...they're all directional constraints..."  
"Yes...but...look at them! They're...they're not where...they should be!"  
"I don't see..."  
"They're...meant to be...inside the lines...not around them...like that!"

A fourth branching had them clattering to a stop. Al pointed up.  
"And that...double layered arrays are incredibly powerful...you don't try them if you don't know what you're doing."  
"I know that," Noah reminded him.  
She was about to go on but a sound in the distance made her stop.  
"What was that?"  
"I don't...it sounded like..." Realising what he was about to say, Al stumbled over the word. "Like a...a clap."

Light burst from the lines at their feet, vivid blue and white, arcs of energy clawing their way out of the metal. Driven by a terrified reflex, Noah crashed into Al, driving him towards the outside of the tunnel. He yelled, the lightning chasing his feet, lashing at his body. They collided with the wall and slid down it, holding onto each other, fighting to stay out of the reaction.

* * *

Ed roared.

His hands were welded to the array. The energies he had released flowed into it without bothering to do what he had commanded them to. Nothing disintegrated, nothing exploded. He was paralysed, held there, a sickening, draining sensation spreading up his arms. If he had bothered to check, he would have found that Edward was in precisely the same state, silently transfixed, face screwed up, eyes tight shut. But he did not bother checking. He was too busy empty all his prodigious lung capacity at once.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"  
Coherent words finally broke through the pained howling. Chambers, secure and untouched at the heart of the light, flicked him a disinterested glance.  
"Simply put, Mr Elric," he explained as if they were still sitting in his office, "this is a trap. I need your alchemy, not your predictable attempts at self-destruction."  
"WHAT -"  
"This array catches your Gates within it and holds them open, accumulating the power I will require. It is not perfect - inherent instabilities necessitate the use of two alchemists - but it is sufficient for my needs."  
Speech failed Ed again and he had to clench his jaw to stop himself going back to screaming. He was not entirely successful.

The light grew brighter and brighter, shining from the roof as well as the floor. The openings too were flooded with incandescence. A protesting grumble came from the walls, a vibration passing through the earth around them. Brighter still, the glow began to change colour, flickering different hues, purple and yellow and red and orange tingeing the power that raged through the design. The draining reached Ed's stomach, every fibre of his being fighting against the invisible, irresistible force that was trying to draw them out. Spots of darkness filled his vision. He recognised the prelude to unconsciousness. His head was not heavy enough, while the rest of him could have been cast from lead.

Then, without warning, he was free, his hands pulling away from the floor.

He collapsed sideways, unable to stop his fall. The blaze from the lower array rushed up to meet that from the one on the ceiling, the waves of brilliance meeting with a silent crash. A fully-grown tremor shook everything, rattling Ed's teeth. Through it all, Chambers stood untouched, resolutely still at the eye of the storm.

Now he moved, raising his arms, palms facing outwards, head tilting back. The dancing electric fire burnt around him, flashing across his glasses. It drew away from the arrays, coalescing in the air above his fingertips. It became a solid, unbroken ring, swimming with colour.

Another, stronger tremor had mortar showering from the walls. No one noticed, least of all the man responsible. Ed struggled to move, to fight, to do _something_. He could not. He might as well have been tied to the floor. He caught a glimpse of Edward. The homunculus-man was not resisting the force keeping it down. Its eyes were no longer empty: they were filled with stark, unreasoning terror.

Unhurriedly, Chambers' hands swept down. They met before his waist, his arms perfectly straight.

Everything trembled.

The colours in the circle of light shifted faster and faster, until they had blurred into a golden mass. Something inside Ed, something indefinable, wrenched sickeningly. He gasped, not because it hurt but because it was deeply, basically, fundamentally _wrong_. The sound from Chamber's clap finally escaped, booming out as deafening thunder.

And the circle exploded.

Blackness rushed in to fill the gap it left in the universe, blackness that had no form, that could have no form, a perfect emptiness where the world, quite simply, was not. With it came complete silence. No sound, no matter how insignificant, could disturb the dreadful, oppressive hush. There was no air to stir, no ground to shift, no hot, no cold, nothing.

Nothing but the Gate.

* * *

_A/N: MAUHAHAHA._

_That is all._


	28. Chapter 24: Storming the Gate

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just breaking it loudly._

**Chapter 24: Storming the Gates**

It was not the Gate Ed remembered.

It was the wrong colour for a start, white rather than black, just as the void around it resembled a starless night instead of the sky around the sun. The figures struggling up its pillars were different somehow, though he would have been hard pressed to say why. The frieze on the doors was not the same, either. The great eye engraved there was tight shut, with no rays of illumination to surround it.

But none of that meant that _this_ Gate did not loom just as massively or that the sight of it did not fill him with a sense of raw helplessness. And like the other, it was always nearby, there when you turned around, no matter how strongly you wished it wasn't. He stared up at it from the floor that was not there until the horror of it forced him to turn away.

At first, he thought he was alone. But then he saw the ragged shape slumped a few yards away. Numbly, he crawled his way over. The homunculus-man was curled up on its side, shivering. Ed hesitated, a surge of distaste holding him back. Then practicality reasserted itself and he gripped the Thing's arm, tugging hard.  
"Hey. _Hey!_ Look at me."  
Obediently, it unfolded a little, blinking. The alchemist swallowed, forcing the bile back down.  
"Do you know where we are?"  
It nodded quickly and fearfully, making a gasping noise that might have been 'yes'.  
"Do you know what that means?"  
The next noise was negative, the head bobbing sideways.  
"Huh. It means that there's only one definite way outta here." Ed jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "When _that_ opens..."

He stopped. Exactly. When the Gate opened, there would be a way out of the void. There would be a way out of the void and back into the world he called home. A way back to Amestris, to Risenboul, to Aunt Pinako, to Winry...to everything that he had been shut away from since that day in the city below Central. A way _home_. At a price. His left hand went to his right shoulder. You had to pay the Hunger to pass through the Gate. If you weren't careful, you paid with everything. And this time, that would mean paying with Al. With Hawkeye. With the Bastard Colonel.

"But...that isn't a good way out," he continued eventually, "so we need another one."  
It looked at him blankly. He gritted his teeth.  
"Just...stay there. I might need your alchemy."  
Dragging himself round to face the Gate, he rubbed his lip with real knuckles. Those doors were going to open. They always did. They were going to open and the Children inside were going to reach out to try and take whatever they could find. And based on past experience, there would be no way they could fight back. Not even if one of them was kin with the Hunger. _Especially_ when one of them was...whatever you called it.

"Great..."  
He flexed his hands. He had never tried alchemy in the 'in between'. In a place where there was no matter to transmute, where he usually only ended up when half - or completely - dead or on the wrong end of a reaction, it had never even occurred to him. But supposing the energy alone was enough...supposing it could disrupt whatever was keeping him there and kick him back into -

The Gate opened.

The great doors began to swing inwards - another difference - revealing the broiling, inky darkness within. The purple eyes snapped into being, staring madly out at the things beyond. For the first time, Ed saw how cracked the edifice was. Decay wracked every part of it, the statues crumbling, their faces and hands worn by age. Far from being more solid than reality, the Gate was old and failing.

And then Chambers was there.

He appeared abruptly, like a light bulb snapped on. The pure gold circle still hung over him, an obscene halo casting out shards of radiance. The glow embraced the doors, streaming and flowing until it was wrapped around them, a thousand serpents enfolding their prey. He spread his arms again, making a wrenching motion. The light heaved.

Chambers' power tore through it, flinging the doors back and out so that they crashed into the frame, smashing the blocks apart. The statues seemed to open their mouths to scream as their bodies were rent into pieces, crushed beneath the toppling masonry.

There was no sound as the Gate fell.

'Sound' was simply the wrong word for what you heard when the universe broke.

* * *

The Institute shook. People tottered about, most of them with no idea what was happening. In the anteroom, the Templars retreated from the wooden door, fleeing as part of the ceiling came down in a cloud of dust. Helen and Anna were already crouched on the floor, trying to keep away from the debris. Graves had fainted when the first tremor hit.

In the cells, Hawkeye shot out an arm to support Falconer. They careered into the wall, unable to maintain their balance. Falconer was suddenly the one bearing all the weight and they went down.

Ivan had dropped to the stones as soon as the earth started moving. He had never been in an earthquake before but he was no fool. When an ominous creak came from the doorway, he scuttled to the far end of his cell and covered his head.

Mustang could not move. An unbelievable pain, as searing as any fire, was shooting through his...everywhere. An acid bath would have been an improvement. He did not even notice that he had toppled off the bunk and was writhing about as madly as the building around him.

* * *

Pinako Rockbell looked up as the cups on the windowsill fell to their deaths. Den was barking like crazy, batting at empty air. The old lady tottered past the panicked dog, reaching for the back door handle. The house was shivering to its rafters, auto-mail parts falling off the shelves in a rain of discordant tinkling. Outside, Risenboul was faring little better. Already there were columns of smoke rising where there shouldn't have been and trees leaning at dangerous angles.

The mechanic staggered into the yard, catching an old workbench before it could collapse and shatter, lowering it more carefully. The dog streaked past, still yapping frantically, nose in the air. Pinako looked up.  
"Good grief..."

* * *

"Yeah, we can feel it too!" Falman yelled into the phone, fighting to stay upright, "Sheska, get off the line!"  
Fuery screamed as a particularly violent quake brought the shelves down. Breda was already under his desk, fearlessly protecting the office whiskey supply.

The door flew aside, propelled by a combination of Jean Havoc, Maria Ross and a very flustered Denny Bloch. The major was unlucky enough to trip and ended up at the bottom of the pile, having bitten through his cigarette. Spitting out tobacco, he very ungallantly shoved Ross off his back and struggled to get up.  
"What the hell's going on!" he roared.  
"No idea, Major Havoc, sir!" Falman hollered back, abandoning his chair to join Breda, "But it isn't stopping!"

* * *

Winry hit the floor with a bump.  
"Ow!"  
Bouncing off the other bed and abruptly far more awake than she had intended to be, Paninya skidded past.  
"What the -"  
"What's hap -"  
"Why is -"  
A toolbox juddered off the bedroom desk, the contents flying in every directions. For a minute, the girls were too busy fending off wayward spanners to bother with any more half-finished questions.

And by then, they were ankle deep in books and trinkets, the window had broken open and they could hear the shouting from outside.

* * *

Holding onto Tawny, Rose fought to avoid ending up in the dust. The fountain was falling over, stallholders racing to get out of the way. Buildings reinforced by alchemy were already bucking and buckling, tiles dropping left, right and centre.

The boy in her arms had eyes like saucers.  
"Mom...what's happening? What's wrong with the clouds?"  
She almost cried out in astonishment. What was wrong with _clouds_? What about the earth, the mountains, the desert, everything that was shaking down here? But she still could not help but look up.

And so it was that she saw what was wrong with the clouds. And realised that she was wrong to question her son.

Because the sky was shaking as well.

* * *

Noah had lost the lamp. She had to find Al with her hands. His skin was burning to the touch. She called his name but he did not reply and she was not certain if it was just the tremors that were making him shake.  
"Al! Alphonse!"  
His hands closed on her arm, as tight as a vice.  
"Help..." he gasped, "Help...me...!"  
"How? What..._how_?!"  
"I can't...I...help me!"  
All she could do was hold onto him, the seething turmoil of his mind breaking in on hers, the pain inside him beating its way through her defences.

At some point, her eyes must have gotten used to the dark because she started to see Al. He was covered in sweat, his face wild with torment. She could feel what he was feeling by then, leaving her as unable to break away as he was.

Perhaps it was because of that that she did not notice how truly magnificent her night vision must have been to see anything at all. And perhaps it was because she could no longer tell which sensations were her own that she did not feel the touch of the ethereal fingers that reached out to them from nothingness.

* * *

Chamber's circle drew the golden streamers to it, wrapping them around and around, weaving them together. Ed watched mutely, mind completely blank of any idea of what to do next. Something nudged his waist. Edward was there at his side, huddling up to him like a kid scared of the dark. Amazingly, he could not bring himself to drive the creature away. It, like him, was incapable of doing anything to escape.

_Think_, he ordered himself, _think! There has to be a way to...to do _something_!_  
No handy solution was offered up.  
_Fucking hell. I've got everything that thing could shove in my head! Why don't I know how to fix it?!_  
"White..."  
The rasping, laboured voice startled him. Edward was pointing at the jagged remains of the Gate, where the doors lay askew across the pedestal. The shock of hearing it speak meant that Ed did not immediately process what it was trying to make him see. When he did, he understood at once. The whiteness of the stones was billowing out into the void, like soap powder in a water tank, one formlessness gradually being replaced by another. Simultaneously, the displaced blackness appeared to be seeping back into the remains. Only it was not stopping at the broken edges but continuing higher, extruding upwards.

The Gate was reforming.

Which meant Chambers really had done what he wanted to. He hadn't just knocked everything down: he was starting to build it up again.

_If he can do it, I can do it._

The thought had no sooner entered Ed's head than he was acting upon it. He dragged himself forwards as fast as he could, closing the gap between them. Hands were suddenly lifting him up, arms supporting his one-legged weight. Edward smiled a blissful smile, clearly overjoyed at having caught on to the game of 'get Ed to the maniac'. Too focused on his goal to object, the alchemist accepted the crutch without comment. Together they charged at Chambers, a truly bizarre single entrant in a three-legged race.

He did not lift a finger.

Their feet lurched beneath them, slipping, turned aside as whatever they had been running on gave way, dropping them into the void. Ed flapped, frantically trying to catch hold of something. He only succeeded in hitting Edward. They were in free fall, the ruins and the circle receding into the immeasurable distance, until there was nothing there but unending black.

* * *

_A/N: 100 reviews. I'm frankly chuffed with that. Thanks for reading, everybody! Keep checking back...there's more to come..._


	29. Intermission 4: Touching the Past

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just reading its mind._

**Intermission 4: Touching the Past**

_Northumberland. Before._

"It's no good sir! We'll have to go back!"  
The two lanterns danced over the snow. The man who had spoken was clutching at his coat, his words coming out in great puffs of steam. 'Sir' did not reply, striding on without acknowledging his companion.  
"Sir!" More than a hint of pleading entered the speaker's voice. "There's nothing out here!"

"No!"  
The other shouted to be heard clearly over the wind. He swung his lamp from left to right and back again, the beam uncovering nothing more than freshly white slopes.  
"Something is out here, Bell," he insisted, "Close by. We keep searching."  
"But...sir...! If the weather gets any worse, we could be stranded out here!" Bell stumbled. "We could be chasing a phantom to our deaths!"  
"You saw the flash as well! This is no phantom!"  
"Sir...I...I realise that..._sir_!"  
Bell's sudden change of tone brought his master running back to his side. He gesticulated wildly at a hollow in the hillside. The two of them clambered down towards it, the leader rushing eagerly ahead.

He came to a halt at the edge of the dip, the sight causing him to pause in revulsion. The mangled collection of flesh and bone that lay there hardly resembled a human being, such were the extent of the injuries that had been inflicted upon it. Only the laboured rising and falling of its chest suggested that any life remained within. More cautiously, Bell at his back, he moved closer. As he did, his foot caught on something half-buried by the weather. Stooping, he discovered it was some form of angular metal mask, one clearly designed to cover the upper part of someone's face. The surface was corroded and a large crack ran down one side.

A weak groan escaped the body's ruined lips.  
"Good God..." Bell looked nauseated. "It's a man!"  
His master was already kneeling, careless of his bespoke clothes.  
"Can you hear me?" he asked, hesitating, his hand an inch from the devastated skin.  
Another groan was all the answer he received.  
"Do you understand me? _Can you hear me_?" Filled with urgency, the would-be rescuer leaned closer. "My name is Benedict Chambers, I...sensed your arrival. This...event is of monumental importance. Please. Speak to me."  
"It's no good, sir..." Bell was holding back, afraid to come closer. "I don't think he's in any state to say anything..."

At that, the injured man's eyes snapped open, staring madly out of a flayed face. Chambers jerked back, Bell giving a startled gasp. Broken arms strained to lift and tendons stood out in the bleeding neck. Jaws scraped, a lipless mouth opening and closing without force.  
"G...g-g..." Eyes bulging, the man choked. "G-g..._Gate -_"  
He broke off and his head fell back. Reflexively, Chambers tried to cushion it with his hands.

Their skin touched.

* * *

The study was cold. The grate had been empty of fire for three days.

Behind the desk, Chambers sat immobile. Books and papers lay abandoned, pens pushed aside to make room for the object that held his rapt attention. No attempt had been made to clean the mask. A dusting of muddy brown had fallen from its back, marring the wood on which it rested.

A nervous knock heralded the appearance of Bell's head around the door.  
"Ah, sir...?"  
He entered the room with the utmost reluctance. No change affected his master.  
"Frau Eckhart is here, sir. She...ah...insists that you keep your appointment with her. She says that she cannot stay long...the war, I suppose...ah..."  
Supremely embarrassed at having breached the most sacred of protocols and spoken uninvited, he hovered, preparing himself for a thunderbolt of employer's wrath.

Chambers gave a vague nod. Bell shifted uncomfortably.  
"Should I, ah, show her in, sir?"  
At last, the man in the chair paid him some heed, head flicking up.  
"Has Huskisson's body been removed to safer storage?"  
"The, err, man from the moor? Y-yes sir, he has..."  
"Then show Frau Eckhart in. This...cult of hers may have greater use than I first thought."

* * *

_London. 1919._

"Chambers, old man! Glad you could come!"  
Graves pumped his hand enthusiastically. Around them, people in mourning dress filed solemnly into the banqueting hall.  
"Good evening, Thomas. You appear remarkably pleased for someone attending a dinner to commemorate those of your number who have died."  
Jowls dropping at once in a show of regret, the doctor coughed.  
"Well, of course. Tragic. The Donovan Organisation has lost too many young people. But listen..." It abruptly entered his head that they were standing in a very public place. "Ah...I need to talk to you...later, after the dinner. A private matter that I think will be of great interest to you..."  
He waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. Chambers said nothing.  
"Err..."

"Good evening, Thomas. I didn't expect to see you here."  
The intruder, a tall man with long greying hair, smiled from behind his glasses. He imposed upon their company shamelessly, in a waft of cologne and a spotless dinner suit.  
"I thought you were tied up at the hospital."  
"Ah, no..." Graves went a furious shade of red. "Had to come here, didn't I? Bad form not to...oh, Chambers...this is Professor Hohenhiem. Hohenhiem, this is Benedict Chambers. Knew him at Cambridge. He was one of Donovan's backers."  
Hohenhiem smiled again.  
"Ah, yes. I've heard of you."  
"As I have you," Chambers replied, offering his hand.  
After a moment's pause, it was taken up in a gentle grip.  
"That surprises me," the professor admitted.  
"I made a point of knowing who my money would be supporting. You were an advisor to Churchill at one time, were you not?"  
This earned a rueful look.  
"The problem with giving advise is that there is no certainty that it will be taken."

"Indeed."  
A slight frown creased Chambers' brow. He pulled away from the handshake, something Hohenhiem was clearly grateful for. The bespectacled men regarded one another. Chambers rubbed his thumb over his fingers.  
"I understand you lost one of your students a few months ago."  
"Yes...Edward...he...was killed in an airship attack."  
"My condolences."  
"Thank you."  
Neither of the noticed Graves going pale at their side. Chambers was still looking speculative.  
"Would it be possible for us to meet again, Professor? I know that is a dreadful imposition but I recall a paper of yours that rather fascinated me. I intended to write to you about it prior to the war but circumstances prevented me."  
Hohenhiem blinked.  
"I think you must be referring to someone else."  
"I do not believe so." Chambers looked him in the eye. "Your work on the history of the Philosopher's Stone was most distinctive."

* * *

"So..."  
Swilling whisky around his glass, Hohenhiem leant back in his armchair. The library was empty apart from the two of them, the books bearing mute witness.  
"Are you going to tell me how you know?"  
"How I know what?" Chambers inquired, gazing into his own drink.  
"My 'work on the history of the Philosopher's Stone'... I have not spoken to anyone in this world of that."  
"Not even Edward March?"  
"Not even Edward."  
"He was your son."  
"No. Just someone with his face."  
"Yet you mourn them in equal measure."

With another of his sad smiles, Hohenhiem sipped his whiskey.  
"Yes..." He yawned. "If you aren't going to answer my first question, will you at least tell me what you want?"  
"Knowledge," Chambers said at once, "What else does a scientist seek?"  
"Ah, but you are not a scientist. You are a wealthy private individual with a healthy interest in alternative perspectives."  
"The supernatural can be studied scientifically."  
"True. Why should I tell you anything?"  
"I could assist you in finding a way home."  
"This world is my home now."  
"The knowledge you possess could be extremely valuable."  
"Then why share it?"  
"Locking it inside your head...taking it to your grave...that would be a great waste. Let me take it and guard it for you, so that it may survive."

In the silence that followed, Chambers finally drank as well.  
"How selfless of you," Hohenhiem deadpanned, "How much do you know already?"  
"Enough to know there is far more."  
"I see. Greedy for the secrets of the universe," he said contemplatively, "I've seen it before. In the mirror, for one."  
Unhurriedly, he put down his glass and rolled up his sleeve. Some of the corroded flesh below peeled off with it.  
"I don't suppose this will change your mind."  
"I have no intention of committing such a folly."  
"Neither did I. No one intends to commit them. That's why they're follies."

He rolled the sleeve down again. His smile returned, more faintly.  
"It seems to me that you're not asking me to explain anything to you. You have some other way of extracting information. I doubt I will be able to stop you doing so. This old body is...wearing out."  
"I have no wish to take without asking."  
"You already have. And you're going to again." Hohenhiem closed his eyes. "But thank you for being polite enough to go through the motions. It's a very civilised aspect of your country's culture."

* * *

_Bavaria. 1923_

The dragon chomped away on Bell's bones, snapping them one by one, clearly enjoying playing with its food. Falconer was pressed against the tower wall, breathing heavily. One great purple eye had her pinned to the spot, weighing her up as another meal. The sinuous bulk coiled over and over on itself, making it impossible to tell where the tail was in relation to the head. A great serpent indeed.

Chambers approached slowly. In plunging from the rafters and rushing to consume the unfortunate secretary, the dragon had failed to notice the second man. Keeping quiet and unobtrusive, he was able to get within touching distance and that was all he needed. The dragon stiffened and stopped eating.

The scales under his finger were cool. Images tumbled into his mind, places and people, a landslide of thoughts and feelings crashing through mental doors. The winding body relaxed, the massive head falling to the floor.  
_"How do you deal with other people's emotions?"_ Hohenhiem had asked, as lucidly as when he had not been having his memories drawn out, _"Don't they drive you mad?"  
"I ignore them,"_ Chambers had replied.  
But it was hard to ignore the dragon's emotions. A boiling, virulent hatred coloured its entire existence, a heat that almost totally eclipsed the inky alien coldness that lurked beyond. Nothing would ever satisfy such a being, nothing ever could. A constant bitterness at what it did not have drove it on and on, so that it never ceased to crave the things it saw in others.

Chambers forced the poison to one side. It was irrelevant. He pressed on through to the coldness. That was what he was there to find. He seized it and opened it up as one might a book. And began to read.

* * *

_London. 1924._

The back of his mind was itching.

This happened occasionally, when the memories he had taken grew restless in their confinement. Sometimes he caught himself signing things in a flowing hand that was not his own. Sometimes he would start scribbling equations in an attempt to understand an obscure physical process. Sometimes, he merely had to fight the urge to lash out at those who were obstructing him. Through constant struggle, he had been able to suppress most of the rogue characteristics, but they still worried at their bonds. The present irritation was emanating from the echoes of the creature that called itself Envy. If it had been real, it would have been throwing something akin to a tantrum.

Chambers straightened, turning from the bandaged figure that lay on the hospital bed. The Marquis stood by the far wall, a disinterested observer keeping a close eye on the doctors who attended to their only patient. Through the windows, the sleeping city was just visible, a few lights sharp against the night. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, certainly nothing that could have disturbed Envy. But the itching continued, growing in strength. Then he saw how still the Marquis had become. A trickle of sweat was sliding down his brow, the face below unnaturally motionless. The doctors too had ceased to shift about. Chambers took a few steps backwards. For some reason, doing so was incredibly hard. He wished to move but in between his mind and muscles, the impulse was smothered. Turning his head was just as difficult.

A cloaked figure glided across the room, unreal yet disturbing the air in a way no ghost could. One jet black hand emerged from the folds of snowy fabric. As it did, the body within was partially revealed in a hint of feminine curves and cyan tattoos. Unhurriedly, she went to Edward's bedside.

Envy was becoming frantic. Chambers fought against the lethargy to which he was succumbing, drawing on the captive hatred to bolster his defences. The woman reached towards the boy's head, golden glints playing over her skin. With a monumental effort, Chambers flung out his arm. His palm connected with her wrist and his fingers snapped closed. She whirled to face him, her form blurring, growing indistinct.

And in a storm of sunlight and staring eyes, he saw the Truth.

* * *

_A/N: Cruel to keep you all in suspence? Probably. But this will be the last intermission...so...enjoy the flashbacks!_


	30. Chapter 25: At the End of the World

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just having fun with it._

**Chapter 25: At the End of the World**

Suffice to say that the bump when they landed was unexpected.

It was not unlike waking up suddenly after you had fallen out of bed. In fact, it was precisely like that. Ed would have sworn blind that he heard and felt a thump in the seconds before he started seeing something other than blackness again. And if further proof was needed, there were the beginnings of a frickin' big bruise all down the side he 'woke up' on.

The steady hiss of an alchemic reaction distracted him away from assessing his injuries and back to his surroundings. Everything inside the first circle of the array was gone. The golden ring still hung in the air but all the stuff that had been below it was...absent. In the addled state of someone exposed to far too much insanity for one day, he could not come up with a better description and resolved to avoid looking at it.

The door was still shut. He dragged himself towards it, working out the logistics of getting up to the handle. It was not going to be easy, since it never was. No one ever appreciated how hard it was to do things with only one leg. They tended to assume you could hop for it if you had to. He had had quite a few fantasies about cutting certain people's left leg off, pushing them over and seeing what they said after that. He might have been better off than someone who'd lost more than just the bit between foot and knee but the stump was not going to push him upright no matter how hard he tried.

Reaching the door, he used the cross braces as ladder rungs, until he was balancing on his foot. At that point, he twigged that it opened inwards and that that would almost definitely end with him flat on his back. He cursed, then remembered that he was not alone.  
"Hey, you!"  
He rounded - as far as he dared - on the heap of limbs and bandages that was just visible round the edge of the...absence. Edward gave him a dazed look.  
"Get over here!"  
Unsteadily, the creature did as it was told.  
"Help me stand," Ed ordered, "Like at the Gate. No, under my arm, you dumb bastard! There!"  
More adequately supported, he pulled at the latch and heaved the door open.

The anteroom was a mess. With part of the roof caved in, it had been reduced to about two thirds of its original size. There was still a way through to the entrance but it was one that would involve a lot of climbing over rubble. Ed could not care less. As soon as they were out of the inner chamber, he sagged against Edward. Away from the array, his brain kicked back into its normal gear and the enormity of what had happened hit home.  
"Fucking _hell_..."  
Even to him, his voice sounded subdued, a far cry from the yelling of a moment earlier.

It was the end of the world. The ground beat like a drum, distant vibrations rumbling through the earth. The air smelt sharp and felt oppressive. A kind of fragility pervaded everything, a breath held in preparation for the inevitable collapse. His insides seemed to be the same, dulled and weakened, waiting to come apart. Logically, he knew that the reaction was not meant to lead to destruction. Right then, it was hard to see how it could end otherwise.

All the same, in the seconds it took him to think that, another voice, the one that had driven him on at the Gate, hollered that the end had not come _yet_. The circle was still powered up. The reaction was still going. Chambers had not finished. And while that remained true, there was still a chance.

The only question was what he was going to do with it.

"Edward!"  
A woman's voice, scared and close. Dim shapes groped their way out of the wreckage. The homunculus-man responded by promptly releasing his hold on Ed and rushing to meet them.  
"Hey - oof!"  
Spitting out a mouthful of plaster, he was confronted by the sight of the nurses, one of whom Edward had flung his arms about. His embrace must have been crushing but she did not seem to mind. The unencumbered woman, the older of the two, patted the patient on the back.  
"Hey!" Ed flailed. "Gimme a hand here!"  
Springing away from the hug, Edward quickly and sheepishly resumed his function as an extra set of legs. The younger nurse staggered slightly. Her hands clutched at her grimy, torn dress as she goggled at the two men.  
"I...are you both all right?"  
"Don't ask stupid questions," Ed growled, "We need to get out of here, now."

"That was hardly a stupid question in the circumstances," the older woman snapped back.  
"Circumstances?!" he shouted, "Lady, you have no _fuckin'_ clue about the circumstances! Now move!"  
She bristled, ready to argue. Luckily, her companion had more sense and pulled her towards the way out.  
"Anna, he's right. We can't stay here, it could collapse any minute."  
The threat of more falling rocks did the trick. Without further argument, they scrambled into the gaps.

Edward helped Ed follow them faster than the Amestrian would have liked. This was mainly because the speed was equalled by a lack of attention to things like low hanging beams. He was extremely grateful when the passage beyond turned out to have escaped mostly unscathed. Anna had stopped by an alcove, clearly not used to having to rush about, while the other one was hovering anxiously, waiting for her patient.  
"Can you manage?" she asked worriedly.  
Edward nodded eagerly, heaving Ed over the last obstacle. An auto-mail hand waved at the otherwise empty corridor.  
"Where's everyone gone?"  
"Th-the Marquis' men ran when the ceiling came down. I don't know what happened to Dr Graves..."  
"Hn. Must'a got above ground...you know the way out?"  
She nodded.  
"I-I think I can remember it..."  
"How about the way back to the infirmary?"  
"I..."

She wavered. Belatedly, Ed realised quite how terrified she must be.  
"Look, urr..."  
"_Helen_," Edward whispered.  
"Helen. They've got my auto-m - my false leg. I need it back before I can do anything about...anything. Way I see it, we're all in this together now but those bastard mercenaries might not get that yet. So I need you to go on ahead, check for them. And it'll be a hell of a lot quicker if I don't have to keep telling you which way to go."  
She swallowed hard.  
"I...yes, of course."  
Ed smiled as reassuringly as he could.  
"Good. Let's go."

* * *

The irregular drumbeat of the tremors kept up. Three or four times, they nearly lost their footing and once a cabinet missed Anna by a hair. The further they got from the array, however, the weaker the shocks became, until walking was no longer a hazardous exercise. This meant they could go slightly faster, which in turn meant that Ed was not getting quite as frustrated. He did not deal well with being unable to move completely under his own power and kept ordering Edward to hurry up. Anna then proceeded to fall behind and he would slow down to let her catch up, prompting frustrated gnashing of teeth from his burden.

What was missing was any sign of anyone else. In the few minutes it took to get from the basement to the main corridor, they came across absolutely no one.  
"Maybe they evacuated," Anna suggested.  
"Maybe..." Ed was sceptical. "But...they're soldiers. And this bit's not about to fall down. Get the workers out, yeah, but with us down there...they'd leave guards..."  
"Well, they clearly have not..."  
"_Clearly_." His lip twisted. "Something's wrong..."  
As if to reassure them that the universe's sense of melodrama remained intact, no sooner had he spoken than Helen, some way ahead of the rest, gave a strangled gasp.

Ed did not have to spur Edward on. The nurse had frozen and as they rushed up beside her, it was not hard to see why. Three men and a woman were sprawled across the floor. Their gender was one of the few things that was still readily obvious about them. The others were the causes of their deaths. The wounds were hard to miss, since in some cases they amounted to foot long chunks of their bodies that were simple gone.

Anna made a horrified noise.  
"Dear Lord in heaven!"  
"Stay back!" Ed shouted, "You...get me closer."  
Gulping, Edward did as he was told.  
"Lower me. _Lower not drop_! Right..."  
Deftly, metal fingers lifted bloodied cloth out of the way. The injury had a curiously regular pattern to it, skin and muscle stripped away in distinct lines that could have been gouged by hundreds of tiny teeth...  
"Up." As soon as they had straightened, Ed beckoned the women on. "Ok, we gotta run."  
"Wh-what do you mean?" Helen stammered, "What d-did this?"  
"Just _run_."

* * *

They entered the final stretch towards the infirmary at as close to sprinting as any of them could get, Anna wheezing, Helen red in the face, Ed in the lead, trying to look every way at once, searching for the barest hint of a bright purple eye or a grasping, oily hand. Having been left as the only one who was really paying attention to where they were going, it was Edward who saw the blockade and skidded to a stop first. In doing so, he saved their lives.

A bullet nicked the tiles his halt had dragged Ed back from, the retort drowning out a yelp of obscene German. Over the top of a wall of beds and tables, two pale faces were visible next to the barrel of a pistol.  
"H-halt!" a French accent stuttered.  
"You're supposed to say that BEFORE you start FUCKIN' SHOOTING people!"  
The patented Elric glare was sent out to roast the gunman. The weapon was not lowered.  
"Y-you!" There was a worrying quaver in the reply. "Y-you did this, didn't you? You and Chambers! This is what he wanted you for! To set those..._monsters_ loose!"  
"L-luke!" squeaked the other face, "W-wait!"

Luke was not listening.  
"Send them back! S-send them back n-now or I shoot you where you stand!"  
The glare dropped away.  
"I will," Ed said, far more calmly, "Let us through and I will."  
"N-no! You'll let them in! They'll get in an-and they'll eat us! N-no! Send them back now!"  
"I can't. Not yet. Let us through."  
"N-no! _N-n _-"  
The other man hit him on the back of the head. The gun discharged into the barricade and Luke fell over.  
"Quickly!" They were frantically waved on. "Come in! Hurry!"  
Ed made sure Helen and Anna got safely over the tables, then let Edward hoist him up. He came face to face with a man who could have been a younger Vato Falman.

His expression must have betrayed him because the man - who, like Luke, was wearing the Templar uniform - flinched.  
"I...Luke was in the other ward. His leg...and something happened...he came in screaming...raving...started...building this...Lazarus and me...we didn't..."  
Not-Falman looked to be on the verge of hysterics. Much to Ed's relief, before that could happen, the door behind them edged open.  
"Cain? What is...oh?" Lazarus took in the scene. "How -"  
With unexpected agility for a one-legged man, Ed hopped and seized the front of the doctor's shirt.  
"Where's my goddamn _leg_?"  
"_Eyes!_"  
Edward's hoarse rasp went up an octave. Ed nearly spun but managed to avoid going down again by stopping in time and craning his neck.

At the far end of the corridor, the shadows were gathering. Shadows that were flecked with purple and flashing teeth.

"Inside!" Lazarus cried, pulling back, taking his assailant with him.  
The nurses fled in his footsteps while Edward and Cain grabbed Luke. The Templar kicked the door shut.  
"That's not gonna hold them!" Ed shouted.  
He _knew_ it wouldn't, in the same way he had known they had been responsible for the bodies. They were the Gate Children, the creatures who consumed any life they found. It was no wonder that a man who had seen them feed had gone to pieces. They were like nothing in either world. And there was nothing that could defend against them. They would find the smallest crack and ooze through, flowing oil that hungered for warmth and substance and longed to rip it away...

Sheer desperation coupled with nightmarish memories made him do it. If anyone had asked, he would have claimed genius inspiration but the honest truth was that he acted on pure, animal-at-bay instinct.

His hands hit the floor, hard enough to draw a protesting creak from the auto-mail.

Harsh, electric blue fire erupted around him, surging up the wall, wiping every feature clean. Skirting board, ventilation ducts, door - all vanished, leaving only a smooth, seamless stretch of dappled grey.

Something scratched at the barrier. Then it went away, leaving only the spitting and hissing of sparks.

Ed fell onto his back.  
"Ow!" He clutched at his stomach. "That...hurts...all over..."  
No one said anything. They were too busy with gaping. He exhaled loudly.

"Yeah. Right. And if I don't get my leg back soon, I'm gonna get really mad."

* * *

_A/N: Because, damnit, it's been too long! Well, obviously, that's not the only reason but...Ed's alchemy special effect is just too cool not to put in at some point..._

_Well, it is. Just like the Gate Children and Mustang's flame alchemy and the Gate opening and..._

_And this is why it is fun to write fan fiction..._


	31. Chapter 26: Side Effects

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just tormenting it._

**Chapter 26: Side Effects**

"The Hunger getting through, my alchemy working: they're both side effects."  
Ed ran a hand through his hair. He was sitting on one of the beds, where he had a good view through to the adjacent workshop. In particular, he had a good view of the workbench and Lazarus' efforts to reassemble an example of cutting-edge Rockbell auto-mail as rapidly as was physically possible.

An extremely baffled Cain raised a hand.  
"But...you said he was trying to make 'alchemy' work here..."  
"Yeah, but not _my_ alchemy. He's trying to make his own..."  
The Templar's expression belonged on the wrong side of comprehension. Ed trailed off and sighed.  
"Never mind. You bastards really had no idea what Chambers was doing, didyah?"  
"Um...the Marquis did...we knew it was something..._arcane_, but...we were just doing our jobs."  
"Huh. He musta been paying you a hell of a lot."  
The other man shifted uncomfortably.  
"It wasn't that...not completely...he..._knew things_. And...we follow the Marquis. All of us. It doesn't matter if it doesn't pay...we do what he says."  
"Why?"  
"Because of what would happen if we didn't."

"It's done...your leg."  
Lazarus emerged, cradling the auto-mail as someone might a newborn crocodile.  
"About frickin' time," Ed groused, "Bring it over here."  
The doctor approached reluctantly, handing the offending limb over. Its owner shook it experimentally. The right things clanked against each other. Nothing fell off. Judging this to be a good sign, he stood it on the floor and manipulated the end into his leg port. The first touch of the connectors was, as always, reminiscent of biting into something that was far too cold, the same sharp, spiky shock. He lined up the catches and let go.  
"Helen, can you do me a favour?" he asked.  
The English woman left Edward's side.  
"What is it you need?"  
"You to close this catch. Should just slam home. I'd prefer you doing it."  
She blinked, then nodded, kneeling to examine the mechanism.

Ed gripped the bedstead.  
"Ready?"  
"I think so. Just...like so?"  
"That's righ - grrrrraaaahhh!"  
The catch shot in with a harsh snap. Ed's back arched, his jaw clenching against a pained hiss. Edward whined in sympathy.  
"Th-thanks," the alchemist said eventually.  
"You're welcome. I didn't think it would be very pleasant for you." Helen pointed at his knee. "That must go right into your bone."  
"Bones and nerves, yeah."  
Experimentally, he flicked his foot. When that moved easily, he stood up. The leg did not break under the pressure. Walking a few steps, he decided that it was operating as well as he could expect it to. Lazarus followed his progress anxiously.  
"You are pleased...it is working?"  
"Looks like it." Ed thumped a flesh fist into a metal palm. "We've wasted too much time. Where's Chambers' office? I lost track when they were moving me about."  
"It's upstairs," Cain supplied, "b-but...those things..."  
"I gotta risk it. Is it above us?"  
"Err...n-no. Along a bit..."  
Ed clapped.

What he meant to do was create an opening in the ceiling and extrude steps from the floor, providing easy access to the upper storey.

What he actually did was blow a hole in the ceiling and knock down everyone who was standing up.

Edward stumbled back to his feet and looked quizzically down at his duplicate. Ed coughed and flapped away at the cloud of dust that was falling over them.  
"I...guess I'm out of practice."  
Even he thought he sounded unconvincing. His eyebrows sloped.  
"Just get some beds and chairs under the hole."  
When no one did any such thing, he raised his hands threateningly.

The Templars jumped and rushed to obey.

* * *

Mustang decided that he was no longer dying. The agony had gone, though its echoes lingered. He could actually move to the point of uncurling from a foetal position. Admittedly, the way the floor kept trying to become a wall meant that that movement was limited to what was necessary to wedge himself into a corner, but he felt it should still be counted as an improvement.

The juddering showed no signs of stopping. Stonework battered him from all angles, beating at his cuts until they were stinging and weeping. He groaned.  
"Behold, the Flame Alchemist and his strategy for dealing with the apocalypse," he proclaimed to the otherwise empty room, "Find a corner, take up residence and wait for everything to go away."  
_A gun_, he decided, _a gun and a way out of the cell and then I'd be able to say I at least tried to do something_. Of course, if he had had access to his alchemy, he would have been able to do far more than try...

He began to hope that Hawkeye was safe. He promptly replaced the thought with the far more practical hope that she was on her way, guns blazing, ready to beat down any opposition. _It wouldn't be the first time_. His mouth twitched into a smile he did not really feel. If she had burst in right then, Winry Rockbell would be owed a kiss from the Fullmetal Alchemist. The rational part of his mind concluded that a combination of helplessness and injury was probably making him more than a little hysterical.

The significantly less rational part started begging forgiveness from a long line of burning faces.

The bolts slid back.

By the time he was satisfied that he was not having auditory hallucinations the door had swung open. A spectre of Ishbalan vengeance lurched out of a blazing inferno. Then Mustang focused and Scar became Ivan, the 'inferno' nothing more than crazily flickering lights.  
"Brigadegeneral?"  
"You're not the rescue party I was expecting," the soldier told him, "but you'll do."  
Ivan got the sentiment and snorted, offering his hand. Mustang took it gratefully, looking past the Roma.  
"You're alone?"  
A shrug and a shake of the head was all the answer he got.

The tunnel outside was in ruins. The far end was completely cut off, several of the nearer cells broken open by the upheaval. A black clad corpse had fallen next to the wreckage, head caved in.  
"Is Hawkeye here?"  
Again, Ivan said nothing and shrugged. Mustang looked at the shattered Templar and his blood ran cold.

He pulled away from Ivan and recovered the dead man's pistol. He tried to get the sabre free as well but it was firmly stuck. He gave up, glancing back apologetically. Ivan grinned and produced a knife, pointing to the corpse's boots. Mustang nodded approvingly.  
"Huh. I'll keep this then."  
The gun was unfamiliar but not so much so that he would be unable to use it. There _was_ the slight problem of his previous record with firearms, not to mention the slight haze of delirium that still clouded his head. But under the circumstances, no one else was going to be able to shoot straight either.

_She'll just be stuck behind that mess. Or she'll have been somewhere else entirely. Shelve it. There's a job to do._

He cocked the pistol.  
"Right. Let's find Fullmetal."

* * *

_They had all avoided him when he had been a child. Even his sisters had been afraid that he would steal their secrets. Oh, they tried to hide their unease at first but the deception waned quickly. If he had been older, he might have been respected. As it was, they kept a frosty distance._

_There had always been something missing from her life. A father who existed only in photographs. A mother she had seen buried. A body that she nearly forgot. A brother who gave up his life. Years of experience and growth lost to oblivion. Even when she got those memories back, even when she finally got the chance to grow up, she had to abandon any claim to innocence._

_It was only when he was old enough to work that he gained some kind of equality with the others. He could dance as well as any of them and he soon learnt how to leave people satisfied with what he told them. There was a strange duality about telling fortunes. People sought it out as wondrous and hated it as unnatural at the same time. They would look at him and see someone beautiful and then turn away, contemptuous of the witch._

_She was always losing people she cared for, no matter how hard she fought to keep them close. She had their blood on her hands. And that left her more desperate than ever to hold onto those who were left. The dread was always there now, quiet but insistent: _one day, you are going to be on your own._ They were all going to be gone. And she had no idea what she would do when they were._

_He was alone. Even in a crowded room, he would be alone. But..._

_She would be alone. Every room would be empty and silent. But..._

_But he had never been a fortuneteller._

_But she had never been an alchemist._

"Noah...?"  
"A-alphonse...?"

* * *

Ed tore down the heavy curtains that had kept natural light out of Chambers' office. It was dark, not because of nightfall but because of the storm clouds that hung over the compound, swirling and black. Not dark grey but real, sullen, ugly black. Lightning flashed. The window frame was trembling.

Edward, for some reason, had decided to climb up the bookshelves and reach for the ledgers at the top. Helen paced below, nervous but unable to prevent her charge from doing what he wanted. Cain hung about by the door, eyes peeled for stirring shadows. The office was immaculate. There was nothing on the desktop and the drawers held nothing of interest. A few pens lined tidily up. An inkpot. Paper. No alchemic notes. No explanation of the arrays. Nothing useful. Slamming it shut, Ed stalked towards the shelves. With no markings on the covers, he would have to go through every single one...

With a drawn out 'eeep', Edward fell off, a thick book held to his chest. He bounced up and proffered his bounty.  
"Alchemy," he said proudly.  
"Thanks..." Ed said, incredulous.  
He took it and leafed through a couple of pages. And his eyes widened.  
"_Huh_."  
It was filled with arrays. Hundreds of them, neatly inscribed with annotations. Some he recognised, some were totally alien. Next to a few were lists of symbols, with meanings scratched out under them. There were no other notes, no theory, no formulae. It was less an alchemist's research and more a gallery of pictograms.  
"This is...this isn't..."  
He reached the last page. It held a single, empty circle. Beneath it was a single sentence, neatly underlined.  
"'Guidance components unnecessary'," he read, "'Direction from internal dynamic'."

Ed chewed his lower lip and went back to the desk, dropping the book. He leaned over it.  
"_Internal dynamic_? What the hell...?"  
"Don't...don't you understand it?" Helen asked.  
"Alchemists write in code, I've only just looked at it and I've never seen anyone use an array that was just a circle. What do _you_ think?"  
"I...I'm sorry."  
Engrossed, Ed did not reply. He flicked back and forth, trying to find some sense to the order in which the diagrams were presented. There was human transmutation next to fire manipulation, general-purpose circles next to those you'd only use to fix watches, Isbalan Grand Arcana next to ancient Amestrian. They weren't placed by function, by components, by origin...  
"Simple," he murmured and turned back, "Complex." He turned forward again. "Simple. Complex. Simpler. That's why they're like this. Going from complex to simple. Human alchemy, fire alchemy, Ishbalan alchemy, circles like me and Al used to use..._Gate alchemy_. That's it!"

"What is?"  
He spun, shoving the book under Helen's nose.  
"See? These last ones, before the plain circle? They're the ones you can use to summon up the Gate, like Dante used. For them...you need to have the knowledge inside yourself. You're the calculations, the equations - your knowledge takes the place of the inner components! It's a kind of..._pure_ alchemy, I guess, energy directed by knowledge!"  
"That...that sounds like magic."  
"It's science...it's still science but it's on a...a really fundamental level..." He snapped his fingers. "And that makes it oppressive."  
"Um..."  
Ed tore at his hair with his free hand.  
"Some alchemy only works if you keep powering it, keep forcing the reaction on. Mustang's fire alchemy only works as long as he's focusing on it, if he stopped...the flames would as well." He saw her not getting it. "With some arrays, you can set them going and they won't stop 'til they're done but if you're acting as a component in one and you break off...the reaction halts. The energy might escape in a backlash but things will stop changing, may even start to revert back to the way they were."  
"And...you think what Mr Chambers is doing is like that?"  
"Yeah...it's completely like that. He's sustaining the changes practically on his own. He's stored up all the energy he needs in that circle and now he's directing it, controlling it. If we could make him stop...the Gate might start going back to normal!"  
"'Might'?"  
"Yeah. 'Might'. Don't expect any more than that. I figured out something like this on my own, thought I'd have to take Chambers' place. Could be that I won't have to..."

"So how...um, how do we make him stop?" Cain asked, having followed the conversation from across the room.  
Ed scowled and walked round the desk a few times before dropping into the chair behind it.  
"We can't fight him at the Gate. Tried that already, didn't work. And we can't reach him while we're here and he's there."  
"Bring him back," Edward said, simply.

Ed looked at him. A slow, vicious grin spread over his face.  
"Cain...there any explosives lying around here?"  
The mercenary left the door, frowning.  
"Err...why?"

There should have been fangs in Ed's mouth, Helen decided. She was not entirely sure that there weren't.  
"'Cause," he answered, "I want to see what Mr frickin' Chambers would do if someone blew a hole in his power supply."

Cain shuffled his feet.  
"We have but...they're not in this building and...and those things..."  
Ed's grin vanished. Then returned.  
"There's a fully stocked infirmary downstairs. We can make our own." He shot out of the chair. "Helen, you and him get down there and start finding me things that'll blow up."  
"Ah..." The nurse hesitated. "What about you?"  
"I'm gonna ransack this office and see if there's anything else that can help. That - _Edward_ can help me."  
"But what about -"  
"They'll come after us first. Trust me."

Helen looked him in the eye.  
"I have to." She took a deep breath, then hugged Edward. "Be careful," she whispered.

The instant they were gone, Ed seized Edward's shoulder.  
"How much alchemy do you know? Could you do what I did to the wall or the ceiling?"  
The homunculus-man's lips moved.  
"Y...yes."  
"Good. Then you're coming with me." The puzzlement he received spurred him to explain more. "We're gonna go and destroy that circle. Those others...they'd just get in the way. We can bring roof of the room down, break it that way. If we don't touch that array of his, we should manage it. Get it?"

"Oh, that's a _great_ plan."  
Ed froze. The sneering, jeering voice continued.  
"Stupid _and_ suicidal."  
He did not want to look. He did not want to see how much worse the day could get. _Come on! There has to be a limit _somewhere_!_

He spun.

Bizarre green hair casting shadows across his face, Envy smiled.  
"You just don't change, do you pipsqueak?"

* * *

_A/N: Flops asleep at keyboard Phew. Nothing clever to say here...too tired...move along, ladies and gentlemen, move along..._


	32. Chapter 27: Echoes in the Well

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm watching the kitchen sink go by._

_A/N: A little health warning - it's been so long between this and when I posted the first bits that you might want to go back and refresh your memory about what's going on, specificially the stuff explained in 'Chapter 3: Story Time' and 'Chapter 14: Theories of Everything'._

**Chapter 27: Echoes in the Well**

"You're not real."  
Lightning flashed. Envy kept smiling.  
"So sure, pipsqueak?"  
"Yeah," Ed told him, tone level, "Because you're dead and I can see the wall through you."

The smile became a snarl. The apparition lunged.  
"Then I'm a ghost come back to get you!"  
He was held away, spitting and biting. There were chains wrapped around his body, holding his arms against his sides, more binding his ankles. Ed hastily backed up. Having fangs snapping inches from your face somehow made it harder to doubt their existence, even if they were translucent.

Envy's thrashing about made more of his body visible. Beneath the chains, he was no longer lithe: he was emaciated. His strange, skintight clothes were ragged, the ends stretched and broken. And all the prettiness was gone from his face, leaving it haggard. Insane hate and infinite maliciousness was written on the surface, no longer hidden beneath disguise upon disguise, lie upon lie.

He screamed, writhing more and more violently. The chains were unyielding.  
"No one wants you alive anymore!" He flung his head about, thrusting it forward, hair flying. "You hear me, Edward Elric?! I can kill you and no one will mourn you! You'll just be another carcass, another waste of blood, _ripped out of the world_!"  
"What are you?" Ed demanded, "What are you doing here?"  
"TRYING TO KILL YOU!"

"He's a memory."  
A new voice, warm and calm, emerged from the shadows in a corner. Again, Ed was not sure he wanted to believe that he was hearing it.  
"We all are."  
Hohenheim of Light regarded his sons from an insubstantial armchair, dressed in an immaculate dinner suit, hands folded in his lap. His golden eyes were half closed.  
"Hello, Edward. Both of you."  
"Dad..." Ed breathed.  
Edward frowned, in the manner of someone trying to solve a complicated problem. Envy screeched, but his bonds still held.

Ed swallowed.  
"What are you doing here?"  
Hohenheim smiled a little, free of the vindictiveness and callousness that warped his first child's expression.  
"As I said, we are memories. Memories in the mind of a man who would play God."  
"You mean..._Chambers_? But how -"  
He spread his hands.  
"The world is breaking, Ed. Anything is possible."

Ed reached out.  
"No. No..." Hohenheim waved him back. "I don't think you'll be able to touch me." He glanced at Envy. "Which might not be such a bad thing."  
"If you're just a memory...when did...?"  
"Did I become removed from your real father? Shortly after we met in London. But I know what happened afterwards. From Chambers. We...those he touched...exist in him as fragments, copies held prisoner. We don't have a life of our own...but we have a kind of mental autonomy."  
"Everyone...everyone who's mind he read...they're all...?"  
"In a way."  
"Even -"

Without ever having not been there, another ghostly shape appeared, leaning against the side of Hohenheim's chair. It lifted its single arm and gave a sarcastic salute. Edward laughed, pointing at himself, Ed and the newcomer.  
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Ed ground, "Anyone else going to show up?"  
"I have no idea," Hohenheim told him, "Just as I have no idea how long we will be free to communicate. So, please, listen to me -"  
"Do me a favour and stick your fingers in your ears," interrupted Envy.  
Everyone who could looked daggers at him. He sneered.  
"What do I care if the universe ends?"

With a sigh that disturbed no air, Hohenheim straightened.  
"Edward - _Edwards_...you cannot attack Chambers with alchemy. Things are far too unstable for such a strategy to succeed."  
Ed winced.  
"When I made the way up here...the reaction exploded on me. I couldn't control it."  
"The rules of the world are in flux. There is no telling what will happen if you attempt alchemy again."  
"Then what am I supposed to do? Beat him with sticks?"  
"Explosives," Edward said quietly. "Helen..."  
Considering, Ed was quick to find the flaw in the suggestion.  
"Rules in flux, idiot. How do we know they'll still blow up? And what happens when we get him back from the Gate?"  
"Guns?"  
"Which work based on a chemical reaction - did your brains not grow back yet?"

"His truth."  
A new figure emerged from the air. Envy rolled his eyes.  
"Oh great, you woke her up..."  
Thin obsidian arms, hung with the same chains that contained the former homunculus, shifted to hold a tattered cloak in place. Wild white hair hung in a mane, framing a slender, beautiful face. Her eyes shone.  
"His truth must die so that the Truth may live."

* * *

"It's clear."  
Hawkeye eased herself though the gap made by the collapse of the back of the cell, feet kicking up a fine spray of water. The tunnel beyond a small pool of light from the hole was pitch black and as tremor wracked as everything else but it was not a locked room. And that meant it was a way to get somewhere where they would be able to do something.  
"A pipe must have burst..." Falconer mused, dropping down beside her, "Which way?"  
Testing her footing, Hawkeye put a hand on the far side.  
"No light either way. We'll just have to pick a direction and stick to it until we find an exit."  
"And if we don -" Falconer stopped herself. "No, never mind."

They splashed on into the darkness, one keeping close to each wall. Neither of them spoke much, save for occasionally checking that the other was still close by. Dust and water were constantly being shaken from the ceiling, so much so that Hawkeye could not suppress a twinge of anxiety at the structural stability of their escape route. She also failed to suppress a nagging worry about her companion. Memories of the other woman's partial breakdown at the hands of the Marquis were too fresh.

For her part, Falconer shared that worry. Her hands itched from their emptiness and a cold dread had settled in her stomach. They were still trapped; they just could no longer see their prison. She knew she was being irrational and in the company of someone as collected and assured as...the other her, she felt stupid and weak. But that did not stop her expecting hands to grab at them from the dark or L'enfer to appear, the devil himself springing from a trapdoor.

When the scream came, it transfixed her to the spot.

The sound echoed through the tunnel, distorted into something inhuman by the confinement. It was impossible to tell where it had come from. Hawkeye halted, trying all the same. And she realised that the darkness was no longer absolute. A faint glow was coming from up ahead. A disjointed orange glow that was getting brighter, coming closer.

There was nowhere to hide. The screaming continued, mingled with pounding, splashing footfalls. Quickly, the glow became a definite light, swinging and jerking. A whirling shape came behind it, unclear and wild. Closer still and enough features emerged to turn that shape into a man, a man who clutched at the hand carrying the lamp, shouting himself hoarse. It took him getting within a few feet of them for the women to see why.

He was not carrying a lamp.

The flame and cage of a lantern stuck out from his wrist, fused into his arm.

* * *

"Kindness, right?"  
The woman inclined her head gracefully in mute reply to Ed's question.  
"You look more real than them," he said.  
"I am." Her chains clinked. "I exist in my entirety. Chambers trapped me within himself, so he might know all I know and be all I am."  
"So all this is her fault as much as yours, pipsqueak," Envy crowed, "You're in really _high class company_."

Kindness looked at him sadly.  
"You have played your part as much as he. Hush now."  
"_Make me_!"

"What did you mean?" Ed shouted over the challenge, "His truth...what the hell does that mean?"  
"It is part of the Truth that alchemy failed in this world," the Gatekeeper said, "That its people cannot open the Gate. Power here stems from the mingling of souls, for that is the only resource available."  
"Telepathy," Hohenheim offered, "The drawing of part of another's soul into oneself. That is what we are. Parts of souls."  
Again, Kindness inclined her head.  
"He is correct. Chambers seeks to change that. To open the Gate so as to channel energy from your world to -"

"Yeah, yeah, _I got that_." Ed was getting frustrated. "He told me his frickin' master plan. How do I stop it?"  
"He believes he can change the order of things. He believes and so for him, it is a truth. It is that which he intends to put in place of the Truth."  
"Look, lady, please -"  
"He will erase the Truth that is and impose himself in the gap. One soul, overwriting countless billions."  
"Tell me how -"  
"He will change the facts of history. He will make it so that the experiment from long ago had a different outcome."  
"How do I -"  
"With that, the Gate will invert. The transformation has already begun. There is only one way to prevent its success now."  
"How. Do. I -"  
"His truth must die before it can become the Truth."  
" - stop him?!"

Ed blinked.  
"_What_?! What the _hell_ does that mean?" His arms windmilled. "Are you telling me to kill him? 'Cause I got no problem with that except the one where I CAN'T TOUCH THE BASTARD!"  
"Try it anyway," was Envy's cheerful response, "Then maybe we'll see if you can be blown into something smaller than you already are."  
Hohenheim tapped the side of his head.  
"Truth, human truth, is an idea, Ed. It's the most important part of alchemy, the internal dynamic that makes what we do possible. To stop a reaction, any reaction, all you have to do is remove that idea. Take away that knowledge. Kill that truth."  
"You must act quickly," Kindness said, a suggestion of urgency entering her serene voice, "before all things have been undone -"

She vanished.

One second there were four phantoms in the room, the next there were three. Edward prodded perplexedly at the empty air. Ed rounded on Hohenheim.  
"Where's she gone?"  
"I think we must be -"  
He disappeared as well, snuffed out, taking the 'ghost Ed' with him.

Leaving them alone with Envy.  
"Looks like it's so long, pipsqueak."  
"Wait!" Ed ordered, "How am I supposed to 'kill truth'?"  
The homunculus laughed long and hard.  
"You're asking a born liar about truth?! You're even dumber than you used to be!"  
With that, he was gone.

Ed filled his lungs. Displaying more than a little sense, Edward stepped aside and tried to pretend he was part of the furniture. This would have been a better plan if Ed's wrath had not immediately turned on the available inanimate objects. On the other hand, the homunculus-man did remember to cover his ears.

An auto-mail foot splintered the desk front.  
"WHO DO I HAVE TO KILL TO GET A STRAIGHT ANSWER AROUND HERE?!"

* * *

The man collapsed at their feet, his legs giving up beneath him. His right arm, the one melded with the lantern, blistered and distorted, fragments of bone and metal bursting from it. An especially large chunk broke through his shoulder, slicing at the remains of the black fabric that covered it.  
"Help me!" he cried thickly, "They're coming...and _it won't stop_!"

"Issacher," Falconer gasped.  
"What?" Hawkeye asked.  
"His name...it's Issacher. He's a Templar. But..."  
Mad eyes fixed on her.  
"You - the Marquis' woman - _HELP ME!_ It won't STOP!"  
He beat the mutating limb uselessly against the floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks.  
"HELP ME!"  
The mass struck the flags again and again, throwing up sparks. Falconer recoiled, horrified.

Hawkeye stepped closer, unsure of what help she could possibly give him.  
"Issacher...?"  
"_It hurts_..." he whimpered, "And it won't stop!"  
There were shards of stone in his arm now, jostling for room. He screamed afresh, bringing it down once more with a sickening _crunch_.  
"IT WON'T STOP!"

Yellow light cascaded up from the ground, splintering slabs and bricks. It rushed around the frenzied Templar, tearing the tunnel apart.

_Alchemy._ That single thought was all Hawkeye managed before she was caught and tossed end over end by the wave of destructive change. Rock and soil spun across her vision, light and fire shooting past. Down became up and she fell into the sky.

Just before she crashed to earth, she caught a glimpse of a thousand hands clawing out from the dark. Then her chin connected with something solid and a hot, coppery taste mixed in with the smell of a storm.

* * *

Al trembled at Noah's touch, the girl's fingers tracing the side of his face.  
"That was...was that...?"  
"You could...see me?"  
"I...I _was_ you...Noah...you're..."  
The fingers were snatched away.  
"I'm sorry, Al...I didn't mean to..."  
He searched for her hand. Her skin was too hot. He drew her closer, trying to comfort her.  
"So deep," she mumbled into his chest, "Never seen so much...felt so much..."  
He said nothing, rocking her, lost for something to say.

The whispering, when it came, came from everywhere. A hundred church mice might have sounded the same, rustling inside the walls. There were words in it, garbled and incomprehensible, words from every language ever known, words of meaning and power, words that bore great truths.

"I...I can hear you..." Noah whispered back, burying her head in Al's shirt, "Please... I can hear you..."  
The words surged, growing stronger, swelling like rain falling on a roof. Al searched the blackness futilely, wondering when the lamp had gone out. His heart beat in his mouth. The whispering was right behind his ear, insistent. He felt fingers on his face again, but they were not Noah's.

"We can hear you!" he called, "What do you want?"

They told him.

* * *

_A/N: Things are picking up steam...and I'm not just talking about what's coming out of Ed's ears..._


	33. Chapter 28: Disillusionment

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just drawing it out...  
_

_A/N: Anyone still remember this? *Sigh* Blame a third year university work-load and a dissertation-in-progress. This chapter has been done for ages but I didn't want to post it until I'd done the next, which has remained at a page and a half for the past five weeks...and shows no chance of being finished anytime soon...I will get it done eventually, eventually being the key word. Anyway...enjoy this for now!  
_

** Chapter 28: Disillusionment**

The Marquis de L'enfer had seen things in his life that would have driven normal men insane. He had been responsible for quite a few of them. He had seen men burnt alive, men blown apart, men torn limb from limb. He had watched children blackened and scorched, women driven to cut their own throats, babes crushed under cartwheels. He had seen creatures that could barely be considered human and entities that almost certainly were not.

But all that could not prepare him for the sight of those who had sworn loyalty to him being consumed by living shadows.

The screams that chased him were the howls of madmen. He forced himself not to hear them, not to imagine what was happening behind him, not to see the images seared into his mind. Because he knew that if he did, he would slow down and then the hands would be upon him. He had lost track of who was keeping up with him. Solomon had been there, so had Daniel, in the rush to evacuate the collapsing anteroom. They had regrouped at the top of the stairs and were preparing to attempt to clear the way back when the tremors had begun. Perhaps a minute had gone by, a minute of cries of surprise and clutching at the walls. Then the shadows had opened their eyes.

He crashed into the entrance hall, shoving a panicked orderly out of his way. The man fell through a table as four more Templars dashed in after the Marquis. The last one did not make it. Oily, clawing ropes wrapped themselves around his waist and legs. He yelled and struggled but inevitably he was drawn backwards, hauled into range of the teeth that gleamed in the darkness. The orderly gasped, caught as well, lumps of flesh ripped from his side in a heartbeat.

L'enfer clawed at the main doors, throwing the bolts aside as fast as he could. One of the remaining men, driven to hysteria, emptied his pistol at the teeth and eyes. The bullets had no effect whatsoever. He kept pulling the trigger, even as yet more tendrils slithered up between the floorboards at his feet and tore into him. The other two left him to his fate, sprinting to help their leader.

The doors gave way and they tumbled out. The tendrils boiled after them, too greedy to let such tempting morsels escape.

_Devil take the hindmost_. The line flashed through the Marquis' mind and he ran harder, taking the steps in a single bound, not slowing as another scream announced fresh success for the devils on his heels. Only when the breadth of a gravel drive and an immaculate lawn had passed beneath his feet, only when he was scant feet from the door of the building opposite, only then did he dare risk a briefest of backwards glances.

He was alone. There was no sign of the others. The doors to the central, three storied stone mansion hung open, the visible interior dark and empty. For one glorious moment, the monsters and chaos could have been dismissed as hallucinations. Then something shifted obscenely behind the rows of windows. And lightning flashed, drawing his eyes to the sky. To the black clouds turning in a slow, menacing vortex overhead. To the distorted, unnatural shapes that danced among them.

And seeing all that, it was impossible to believe that anything less than the apocalypse had come to pass.

The Marquis fled inside as the storm broke.

* * *

Edward was swearing under his breath the whole way back to the infirmary. He wanted to kill something and there was a long list of candidates. That a few of them were already dead only vaguely mattered. He kept the multilingual stream of anger up as he clambered down the stack of wardrobes and bedsteads they had used to get to the hole in the ceiling.

It was brought to a halt by the sharp, distinctive click of a gun being cocked.

He looked up. The Templar who resembled Havoc stood there, pistol levelled. Cain was hovering at his side, pale and anxious. Another mercenary, one Ed did not recognise, was flicking a nervous look from the stack to Helen and Anna, the women backed up against a cabinet. Lazarus lurked by one of the windows, which, unlike the others, was un-shuttered and wide open.

Ed's lips peeled back.

"Shoot me," he spat, "and you shoot the only person who can save you."

The gun barrel wavered, drawing dark ovals in the air.

"Is that a fact?" not-Havoc asked, too calmly, "Yah helped make this happen. Maybe if ah shoot yah, it'll stop."

"It won't. If you want to die, pull the trigger. If you want to live, get the hell out of my way."

The gun was not lowered.

"Yah're a _prisoner_. Yah aren't in any position ta give orders!"

A bark that was half laugh, half disgusted snort met the statement. Every trace of mirth evaporated a second later and Ed thrust his head forward, eyes narrowed.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

"P-please, Daniel," Cain pleaded.

His imploring had no effect. Daniel's right eyebrow twitched.

"Shut up," he said offhandedly.

He kept eye contact with Ed, neither of them blinking.

Edward, who had been crouching at the top of the stack throughout the entire exchange, chose that point to mewl loudly.

Daniel looked up, just for an instant, and Ed's auto-mail fist crashed into his gun. It went off as it was dislodged, the bullet ricocheting off the battered steel. Reeling, the Templar tried to reach for his sabre but a shoulder connected with his gut before he could draw it, sending him sprawling. Cain yelled and jumped away, while the man guarding the nurses started to raise his own pistol. Edward sprang from above and landed on him. They went down, the weapons going flying. Using the distraction, Daniel surged to his feet, managing to pull his sword free. Metal fingers closed around the blade, bending it was ease. Yanking it from its owner's hands, Ed flung it to the floor. Losing the fight, Edward thumped to the tiles as well and his opponent lined up a vicious kick. Daniel lunged.

Ed's palms came together before he could stop them, old reflexes taking over. A bolt of electricity shot the length of the room and left a smoking mark on the wall. There was instant stillness.

The sensible part of his brain advised against broadcasting the fact that he had never seen or done alchemy like that before. Composing his face while everyone was still watching the wall smoulder, he held his hands a little way apart.

"I'm getting tired of having to threaten you morons. Next one who doesn't do what I say won't have to worry about being eaten by the things out there."

He glared round at the assembled crowd, trying to ignore the ear to ear grin plastered across Edward's face. Daniel stared at him then nodded dumbly. Cain's head was going up and down so fast it was in danger of falling off. Lazarus swallowed hard and the other Templar looked ready to run for the hills.

Ed grunted in satisfaction.

"Right. I need those explosives."

* * *

They came across more bodies fairly quickly. Bodies that had not died from being crushed under falling masonry.

Mustang and Ivan were still in the institutes's trembling basement, though they had left the cells far behind, passing into what appeared to be stores for medical supplies. The slumped form of an orderly lay in one corner, torso almost completely gone. A Templar had fallen next to him, his neck partially severed. Mustang shivered, an icy chill running up his spine which was only partly due to being half naked. The Roma noticed and pointed at the Templar's coat. It was a good suggestion, even if it meant looting a corpse.

Manhandling the garment free, the Flame Alchemist searched the room for a clue as to what had killed the men.

"I think we should get upstairs," he said, levelly, "Whatever did this...I don't think we want to meet it."

Ivan began to nod, then stopped, motionless and staring. Mustang swallowed, one arm in a sleeve. _Now what?_ Slowly, he turned his head.

Something oily was sliding across the doorway they had entered through. Something oily, black and _alive_. He could see parts of it questing around the frame, stretching like fingers – no, they _were_ fingers, scores of them, feeling their way over the wood. He rose, pulling the rest of the coat on, moving at glacier speed. More of the dark _stuff_ boiled out into the empty air. Waving Ivan to do the same, he began to back towards the other end of the room, where another door stood ajar.

The darkness opened its eyes.

On a shared, basic, self-serving impulse, they broke into a sprint so quickly an observer would have been forgiven for thinking they had been fired from a cannon. Shelves and racks flashed past unseen, unheeded. The shadows boiled after them, whispering and chattering, teeth baring in hideous grins, eyes glittering purple, eager and hungry. Neither man saw that, of course. They were too busy doing their level best to get as far away as possible as fast as their legs would let them.

The passage rocked drunkenly around Mustang, the shaking from running superposing on the tremors. His lungs were starting to burn already, adding to the aching soreness across his chest. He pushed the pain, inside and out, to the back of his mind. No time to bother with that. He nearly tripped as the corridor gave way to steps. Ivan bounded up them two at a time. Mustang followed suit as best he could. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hawkeye pointed out that he had been spending too much time behind a desk

If he survived this, he was taking up cross-country running. Jogging more than once or twice a week, at the very least. He'd rope the rest of his staff into it. Yes. Maybe he should get a loud-hailer. More importantly, maybe he should focus and thus make damn sure he _did_ survive –

"Ah!"

The stairs ended abruptly at a closed door. Ivan crashed against it but it refused to yield. Mustang slammed into his back, bounced off and caught his shoulder on the wall. Thus spun round, he thumped onto the steps, looking down the way they had come.

"Wooof! Ah – aah...?"

The expected horrifying sight was noticeably absent. Rather than instantly being torn to pieces, they were left perfectly intact and staring at an absurdly empty staircase.

Shooting upright, the Flame Alchemist pushed his companion aside, pulled out his gun and pointed it at the lock that barred their way.

"Now I _know_ we should get out of here."

* * *

"That, that and that."

Ed snatched the bottles from Edward almost before he had got them down from the shelves. He set them down on the worktable and tore the stoppers out of two. Having quickly checked which was the more empty, he upended one into the other, jammed its stopper back in and shook the result vigorously. Then he took a pipette and measured seven drops from the other, letting each sink into the mixture with a slight fizz before he squeezed out the next.

"This," he said, holding up the result, "we throw. Don't drop it."

Setting the bottle aside, he scanned the remaining stock of chemicals. They had already used up most of what was there, resulting in a mass of containers each with corresponding instructions like 'throw', 'shoot', 'shake', 'mix, 'fuse' and 'could do anything, chuck it and run'. Beside him, Edward flexed an arm that must have been aching from lifting and carrying. Lazarus was lurking in a corner, soaking rags in alcohol. Helen sat in the other, screwing tops onto tins and throwing worried glances at the chemist and the alchemist.

"Laws in flux."

Ed scowled at the homunculus-man.

"What?"

"_Laws in flux_. These...work on...chemical laws..."

"Yeah, no shit."

"The laws...go wrong and...these won't –"

"Yeah, _I know_. You got a better idea?"

"But..."

"Did your brain not grow back yet?!" He rounded, infuriated. "We don't have any-frickin-thing else! NOTHING ELSE! This. Is. It. Do you understand that? Huh? I KNOW most of it probably ain't gonna work! But we haven't gotta choice! _GET THAT_?!"

"That is enough!"

Helen got out of her seat and stormed over to them. She wrapped an arm around Edward's shoulders and faced Ed defiantly.

"What has he done to you? You insult him, you dismiss him, you treat him with contempt and _why_? He has done his best to _help_ you! What has he done that you could...could look at him the way you do?"

"He's not a he!" Ed roared, "He's – _it's_ an _it_. A homunculus – not even that! He – it's something _wrong_! It's...it's frickin' monster!"

A hard, angry mask descended across the nurse's face.

"No. No, _he_ is not. I have been at his side for...for so long...and he has _never_ been anything more than...than someone loving and kind wracked with _so much pain_. He has suffered for _years_! The pain he must have felt before – it must be nothing compared to what he went through to be well again! And he is! Look at him! _Look at him_! Do you see...how could you see a monster? All I see is a boy who survived through a...a miracle!"

"A...a _miracle_?" Amazement and a sneer fought for control of Ed's voice. "You...it was a...an accident. A _mistake_. Not a 'miracle'. And h – _it_ isn't _human_ any more."

"Then what is he? Tell me that!"

"He's – I've seen what things like him become, lady! You have NO idea!"

"No, I don't," she agreed, a hysterical catch in the words, "Are you telling me that anyone who goes through all that agony and lives must come back a...a monster? A monster without redeeming features, without any...any shred of humanity left in them?"

She laughed. Edward looked up at her worriedly but she was quick to regain control.

"And you claim to a _scientist_. You sound like a witch-hunter! Is that what your science is like? Assuming utter corruption?"

"You have no –"

"I don't," she repeated before he could go on, "You're right. I can just tell you what I have seen and heard. And he has done _nothing_ to make you be so...vile towards him. And if you are simply judging on the accidents that made him the way he is that he could be...well, is that a _rational_ way to act?"

White rage swamped Ed. He lashed out, his fist shattering a distilling tube.

"ALRIGHT! I KNOW! I KNOW WHY HE IS LIKE HE IS! I KNOW WHAT HE WENT THROUGH! I...know...I know he didn't have a choice. I know it's made him something he...he probably can't even understand. And I. Know. That it was _all my fault_. There. ARE YOU SATISFIED?! It's MY FAULT he suffered like that, MY FAULT he isn't human any more! And I don't have any FUCKING TIME for this."

He whirled and snapped at Lazarus. "You!"

The doctor jumped a foot in the air.

"Help me get these through there. NOW!"

The Templar could not move fast enough.

* * *

A blonde thunderbolt strode into the infirmary and shoved an armful of volatile chemicals at Cain.

"Drop these and we're all dead a lot quicker."

"Ah!"

The radio-operator juggled his new burden before an imploring look brought the other Templar – who's name Ed had not bothered to learn – hurrying to his aid. Daniel went to assist Lazarus. A minute of explaining which concoction did what went by, which was the easy bit since they were all meant to explode. The difficulty was making sure everyone knew how each had to be set off. Ed supervised irritably, aware that they all had to be perfectly clear on the technicalities and inwardly cursing a blue streak over that need.

Catching sight of Anna gingerly picking up a bottle with a rag fuse, he made a beeline for the older woman. She cut him off before he could speak.

"What would you have me do, Mr Elric? I dare say I cannot stay in this building once you and these young men are gone."

"You should get out. The window...looks like the Hunger aren't going for anyone outside."

"And then what? Wait for you to stop the end of the world?"

"That's the idea."

She regarded him levelly.

"You intend to take Edward with you?"

"Uh...I have to," Ed admitted, "I'll probably...need him."

"Then while I will take your advice, Helen will not. I'm rather ashamed by that but I'm too old and too pragmatic to believe that I will be anything but a hindrance to you."

"Yeah, well. Thanks."

The bottle was thrust at him. He took it and met her eye.

"Look after her," she ordered, "Look after them both."

"I...I'm trying to save the universe here!"

"Just be sure you save them along with it."

She left him standing there.

He looked round to find them all looking at him. Helen and Edward had emerged from the other room. The Templars were clustered together, variously shuffling and uneasy. Ed cleared his throat.

"You do what I say, when I say it. Anyone who doesn't is probably gonna be ripped to shreds."

Ok, not as inspiring a pre-battle speech as the Bastard Colonel would have managed but it covered all the important points. He raised his hands.

"I'm gonna open the way. I want anyone who isn't coming with me out of the window before that. Anna, Helen..."

Anna nodded but hesitated. Helen drew a deep breath, marched to the still overloaded Cain and relieved him of two of the bottles. She could not quite bring herself to glare defiantly at Ed but he got the point. Anna sighed, nodded again and climbed carefully out. Lazarus appeared ready to rush to join her but the combined expressions of everyone else in the room held him back. He hissed and fell back into line.

Ed faced the sealed wall and braced himself. He was going to have to risk alchemising it open. An explosion would bring the roof down. Besides which, he couldn't use a bomb to duplicate the seal all the way down the corridors. And he had to do that, else they'd be even more at risk from the Hunger...

Of course, the way things were going, he would probably collapse the entire building by accident –

Edward pushed him to the side. The surprise of the shove was enough to stop him from reacting until the homunculus-man had started to clap. By then, it was too late to do anything. The instant his hands touched the wall, it boiled away, the material billowing and foaming. The wave of transmutation rushing through the gap, sweeping across the sides of the corridor beyond to leave them featureless and flat.

Triumphantly, Edward lowered his hands, clenching them into fists. Ed closed his eyes. Something ached behind them. He could feel Helen's gaze on the back of his neck. He could feel Edward's on his face.

He sighed and admitted temporary defeat.

"Well done."

Edward's grin was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes again. He felt his lips twitch, then got a hold on himself.

"Now, move it!" he ordered, "We've got a world to save."


	34. Chapter 29: Tempest Tossed

_A/N: I've found the single-line-break tool again! Snazzy new layout for the site but it takes some getting used to...and more concentration on my part, since it says very clearly how to do it in the input window.... This is the way I like the paragraphs arranged, if anyone finds this hard to read, I'm sorry. If there's an overwhelming opinion, I'll stop doing it from here on but, seriously, this is how I intended it to be laid out._

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just shaking it upside down to see what falls out..._

**Chapter 29: Tempest Tossed**

A soldier should at all times be ready and willing to obey any order given to him. That was what they taught you in basic training. You had to keep a clear head and do what you were told, no matter the chaos around you. Without that, an army fell to pieces.

Dashing through the utter pandemonium that had engulfed Central Command, Havoc came to the conclusion that whoever had decided on that as a good core lesson had never had to try enforcing it during an apocalypse.

The people who weren't running around in a blind panic were being trampled by those who were. Sergeants and warrant officers raced about, trying to impose some sort of order. Gradually – _very_ gradually – they were having an effect, pulling together squads and herding civilians towards the gates. Over their yelling echoed screams and over them, the thunderous shrieking of the city itself, as buildings were shaken towards the point of collapse. If they didn't get everyone out into open country, the casualties would be off the scale.

Yes, if the world really was ending, it wouldn't make any difference but they couldn't stand there and do nothing, could they?

The main forecourt was awash with noise and confusion as lorries and cars were hurried out of their garages and sent careering out onto the roads. Captain Kite had got the mechanical core moving – Havoc could see him directing the exodus from the top of a flat-bed. The major decided to leave him to it. Kite had a talent for organising convoys on the fly, something developed during the Ishbalan repatriation efforts. Stopping by the corner of a warehouse, he steadied himself against its brickwork. It was very unnerving to be high ranking enough to have people expecting you to tell them what to do, especially during a crisis where you were supposed to actively seek said people out.

Precisely on cue, someone called out from behind him.  
"Major, sir!"  
The shout came from a thin man with coarse black hair and a pair of half-moon glasses perched on a beak of a nose. The combination made him resemble a scarecrow someone had bundled into a uniform. He had a clipboard in one hand and snapped a salute with the other. Havoc nodded quickly.  
"Uh – what's the situation –" A rapid glance at the man's shoulder. "– Lieutenant...?"  
"Dakota, sir. The third and fourth sections are waiting at the south gate. They need to know where they should go, sir."  
"Right...ok, tell them to drive out those gates and to pick up everyone they can find. Tell them to keep going until they're in open countryside."  
"And then, sir?"  
"Then it'll be someone else's problem. Hey, wait...south. Towards the river?"  
Dakota nodded, patiently acknowledging the blatantly obvious.  
"Then I need a car. Fast!"  
Havoc had taken five strides before the lieutenant could respond.

"Sir! We don't – why, sir?"  
The major did not slow down.  
"Business for General Mustang."  
"With all due respect, sir, given what's happening –"  
"Given what's happening, he'd kill me if I didn't do this, _lieutenant_! Get that damn car!"

* * *

The storm brought Hawkeye round. Raindrops fell like hammer-blows, beating at her back until her protesting muscles kicked her conciousness back into gear. She waited until she could think straight before she tried to get up. It was struggle to suppress the urge to rocket upright the moment she was aware of lying face-down in muddy grass. But that was an impulse training beat out of a soldier. Always look before you leap. That way, you avoided breaking your neck.

Slowly, she raised her head from the grass, spitting out the after-taste of a bitten lip. The world in her direct line of sight was no more edifying. The shaking seemed to have died down considerably, leaving only a faint, background vibration. But the rain was a worse inconvenience. Never mind waterfalls, it fell like thick curtains, concealing everything beyond a foot or so. Her hands slipped as she pushed herself up, her palms slick with mud. She brushed hair out of her eyes, not caring that that left her face smeared with dirt. It would swiftly be washed off. Her mind jumped back to her previous drenching and before pushing the nonsensical thought aside, she wondered if this world had a vendetta against the warm and the dry.

A shape lurched out of the downpour and she nearly broke its arm. Falconer stumbled to a stop just in time, nearly falling over as she did so. Riza caught her and for a moment, the two of them struggled to stay upright and resist the weather's onslaught.  
"We have to get under cover!" Hawkeye yelled, "Where's Issacher?"  
"I don't know!" Falconer yelled back, "Didn't see!"  
Lightning flashed, temporarily counteracting some of the rain's power to obscure the rest of the universe. Hawkeye caught a glimpse of something that could conceivably have been a building, some distance ahead of them.  
"There! That way!"  
Together, supporting each other, they began to battle their way towards shelter. Their shoes were rapidly waterlogged and caked in mud. Their clothes completely failed to keep the rain out. Every step they took, they risked falling head over heels. That they were climbing up hill did not help.

Suddenly, Falconer cried out and she went over, pulling Hawkeye with her. The spy was quick to disentangle herself, apologising in a short, angry gasp. Hurrying back to her feet, Hawkeye waved it aside, more concerned with what her twin had tripped over.

Half of the body was missing. The top half. The remains of the legs lay there like someone's idea of a bad joke. Falconer swallowed hard, then gripped Hawkeye's sleeve and pointed as lighting split the sky again. More bodies lay along the gentle slope, none of them intact. They were scattered in a rough line, marking out a grisly curve off to the left.  
"What..." Falconer trailed off, unable to finish.  
Hawkeye half nodded, following the trail with her eyes as far as the rain would allow.

Something stirred by one of the corpses, a brief movement she might have imagined – except that it happened again, then a third time. Signalling to Falconer, she cautiously scrambled closer. There was something dark bobbing up and down behind the remains of a torso. As she got closer, it scuttled backwards and a pair of violet eyes looked up at her, piercing even through the downpour.

They belonged to a creature that looked like nothing so much as a baby dipped in tar. It was hunkered down on the ground, naked, completely unaffected by its lack of clothes. There was nothing overtly horrifying about it – if you ignored the fact that it was hiding behind a dismembered body – but Hawkeye recoiled all the same. The tar baby broke into a huge grin, revealing a mouth full of too-white teeth. Then it rose up and reached out to her, its arms stretching impossibly far, tiny hands ready to claw at her face.

They never got close. Something, the air itself, or so it seemed, turned them aside. They snaked this way and that, trying to find a way around the invisible obstacle, but it was as if there was a wall between them and the two women. It snarled soundlessly in frustration. Another creature, almost identical, boiled out of the darkness to join it, closely followed by another, then a third. They beat at the barrier, their forms melting together into a mass of coiling arms and gnashing teeth.  
"What's stopping them...?" Falconer wondered, so quietly that Hawkeye barely heard her.  
They're not meant to be here, Riza replied in her head. Out loud, she said she did not know.  
"Whatever it is," she shouted, "They can't get at us. Come on!"  
They continued to the house at as much of a run as they could manage, leaving the shadows and the tar babies to beat at their prison.

Glancing back, Hawkeye was certain she saw them moving closer, certain that the barrier were gradually giving way. She ran faster.

* * *

The third door that yielded to their boots let Mustang and Ivan into a kitchen lit by a single, flickering bulb. It was empty and the door on the other side stood ajar. The shadows were still. All the same, Mustang did not lower his gun. He wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep with the light off again and decided that, in this case, his reputation would be a small price to pay for avoiding the Templars' fate.

Ivan strode ahead, gently pushing the door slightly more open. He nodded. It was clear. Mustang went first, passing through a short corridor and emerging into a deserted dinning room. Thunder crashed as lightning cast everything in harsh blues. They hurried through, casting suspicious looks at the darkness under the tables and benches. Another corridor led out but this one was different: there was a steady, yellow light at the end.

The hallway was large and rectangular, a staircase in the centre leading up to a half landing and splitting left and right. The entrance stood open to the storm, which was well on its way to drowning the floor beneath a pool of water. The corridor exit was under the right staircase branch, so it took them a moment to get clear of the white painted wood work. Just as they did, something creaked somewhere above them and Mustang saw the wet footprints leading from the main doorway to the foot of the stairs.

"Someone's in here. Someone still alive."  
Ivan muttered something in German. It did not sound optimistic.  
"I hope," Mustang amended, "Let's work on the assumption that they _are_ still alive and go and find them."

He started up the steps, careful not to make too much noise. Ivan followed, knife at the ready. They turned right into another passage, this one lined with closed doors. In unspoken agreement, they each took a side and began to methodically check the rooms. The first two were cupboards, mainly full of stationary. The second on Ivan's side was a empty study. Mustang's side proved more interesting.

The room was high and long and dark. He stood on the threshold, letting his eyes adjust. It was full of glass cases, softly clinking as the universe shook. He could not quite see what they contained. Checking for any immediate threats and satisfied that there were none, he walked a few paces inside, just far enough to get a better look at the nearest case. It turned out to contain a sword, an antique by the look of it, studded with jewels, the colours of which he could not guess in the gloom.

It occurred to him suddenly that coming inside might have been a very bad idea.

This was more or less confirmed when he heard the door click shut and a lock turn. The light came on, revealing the jewels to be red and green, set into a golden hilt. A refection in the glass shifted.

He leapt aside, too slowly. The Marquis' sabre grazed the back of his hand and the gun went flying. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other. Mustang had enough time to take in just how pale and drawn the mercenary's face was, just how unfocused his eyes were.

Wordlessly, L'enfer lunged.

* * *

Lieutenant Dakota held on for dear life. It was the only sensible response to the way the Major was driving.

He had barely managed to get in before Havoc had sent the black car rocketing out of the gates at the head of a column of trucks. Officially, he supposed, they were showing the lorries the best way to get out of the city and pick up as many people as possibly. Unofficially, he suspected they were going for some sort of racing record. The speed, combined with the earth tremors, was making him feel slightly queasy. The way Havoc was taking corners was making him compose last words.

The Major had his teeth clamped around a cigarette and wore the sort of expression usually found in the middle of a war zone. He yanked the wheel hard as something tumbled from the top of one of the shops that were streaking by, a gargoyle that missed them by inches. His knuckles were white.

Dakota's knuckles were white as well, wrapped around the edge of his clipboard. It was not that he was scared, per se. Toben Dakota was not a man who scared easily. A few years serving as a junior adjutant to some of Amestris' top generals was usually enough to beat fear out of anyone. It was simply that he was used to dealing with terror at much lower velocities and was not entirely certain of how to react to riding shotgun with a speed-demon superior officer. He _was_ fairly certain that he would not be called on to take the minutes.

"Sir, if I may ask, where are we going?"

Havoc grunted, his attention firmly elsewhere.

"Need to get the people from the river districts out first."

"You think it will burst its banks?"

"Don't you?"

"Yes sir...but I don't quite understand why we're leading the –"

Dakota broke off as they swerved around an abandoned handcart and narrowly avoided ploughing into a fountain.

"Why we're leading the way at such a turn of speed. We've left the rest of the convoy behind..."

"Told you. Business for Mustang."

"Ah...yes sir."

He shifted uncomfortably.

Havoc growled.  
"Look, if you want something useful to do, keep a look out for a mailbox. 'Hughes'. Got that?"  
Light dawned.  
"General Hughes' widow? Of course sir."  
"Yeah, right. Mustang would kill me if I didn't make sure they were safe. 'Course," he continued, "he'd kill me for putting this ahead of my duty to get _everyone_ out safe but this way, when he comes back, I can tell him I did it while I was doing my duty and leading the rescue mission. And," he added in an undertone, "he'd better be coming back 'cause he's probably the only guy who can save my career after pulling this."

Dakota was debating whether to reply when the road ahead disappeared. He yelled at exactly the same time as Havoc. The car crashed to a stop, turning as it did so, until it was broadside on to the gaping crack that had ripped across the street.

They scrambled out. Havoc paused. The quaking was noticeably stronger. Dakota got to the crack and peered into it, eyes wide behind his glasses.  
"Good grief..."  
"Damn."  
Havoc joined him, looking down through an absurdly deep fissure into a place he had hoped never to see again.

The forgotten city was crumbling. The great cavern below was full of broiling plumes of dust as first one then another of the ancient buildings was shaken apart. The crooked terraces fell like dominoes, houses preserved for hundreds of years vanishing in seconds. Already almost everything the two men could see through the jagged skylight had been levelled.

And there was something else. Havoc would have put it down as his imagination except that it was too obvious and too fast a change. Blackness was filling the space between the old ground and the new, an evil-looking, opaque blackness that moved like a mass of angry snakes.

He closed his eyes, knowing full well it would still be there when he opened them.  
"This day just keeps getting worse, doesn't it?"  
"You...know what that is, sir?" Dakota inquired hesitantly, unable to look away.  
"No. Idea. But there is no way in hell it's good."

* * *

_A/N: This story just won't leave me alone! I spent most of today writing the next chapter instead of my uni work because I couldn't concentrate with it going round in my head...you'll see why in a few days..._


	35. Chapter 30: Hell Fire

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just being eaten alive by plot bunnies..._

**Chapter 30: Hell Fire**

The Marquis' sabre smashed the case containing the gilded sword as Mustang danced around behind it, sending shards of glass everywhere. If nothing else, the alchemist thought, _that_ should bring Ivan running.

He had lost track of where the gun had gone. That was a Very Bad Thing. The last time he had faced, unarmed, someone who had a sword, it had been a combination of luck and bloody-mindedness that had saved him. Mostly luck. Completely luck, now he came to think about it. And while it was highly unlikely that the Marquis was anywhere near as good a swordsman as Fuhrer Bradley had been, he was certainly good enough to skewer Mustang given half a chance.

The sabre came stabbing at Mustang's neck. He ducked under it, back-peddling, and managed to catch his side on another cabinet. The sword shattered it, thankfully just _after_ he had jumped away. L'enfer, he realised, was lashing out wildly. Not that that really helped much.

Someone was banging on the locked door. Ivan, hopefully. The Marquis came at him again, parting the air so close to his cheek that he thought for a second that he'd been cut. He hadn't and decided he really wanted to keep it that way. His kick struck L'enfer in the thigh, driving him away. Mustang's subsequent retreat was an undignified scramble but it got him closer to the door.

Unfortunately, the key was nowhere to be seen.

His foot caught on the jewelled sword and he scooped it up, thinking that it was better than nothing. It wasn't. It was unexpectedly heavy and unwieldy, especially in the grip of someone who had never used a sword for anything other than ceremonial purposes. The Marquis knocked it from his grip with ease and the sabre's pommel smashed into his face.

The door caved in and Ivan exploded into the room. Mustang had no idea how he had known where L'enfer would be but he went straight for him, looking as vicious and angry as Scar ever had. Equally, Mustang had no idea how the swordsman evaded the attack. But he did, moving at lightning speed – appropriate given that thunder chose that moment to crash again – and the next instant, Ivan was slamming against the wall, blood oozing from a gash across his chest. The pommel landed a second afterwards, again, again, sickening cracks of metal on bone echoing along the room.

"Stop!"

Mustang didn't expect his shout to work but it did. The Marquis straightened and turned, breathing hard, brow covered in sweat. Roy sucked air through his teeth. His shoulder was aching and the ruined half of his face was burning, old wounds woken up by new punishment. And it felt like some of the fresher cuts on his chest had started bleeding again.  
"This is insane," he said hoarsely, "While we're fighting –"  
"The world's ending," L'enfer finished and he laughed bitterly, "Which makes whatever you're about to say redundant, don't you think?"  
"We can still do something about it!"

Mustang wasn't sure he believed what he was saying but it was buying time. He took a step backwards. The Marquis advanced in turn.  
"Like what? What can you do? What can _I_ do? _Nothing_. That's the answer. _Nothing_. We're helpless. Insects in a hurricane. We can't do anything." The sabre drew uneven circles in the air. "We've...got no _control_ over anything any more. I'm not sure we ever had any to begin with. I thought...I thought I did. I thought I could control my life, force it to do what I wanted. But...Chambers took that from me a long time ago. I can see that now. I can see clearly for the first time in such a long time. He...he knew everything. About me. Everything..."  
He was getting too close for comfort. Mustang held up his hands.  
"Look," he began, reasonably, "If we don't try to stop this, we might be throwing away a chance to live. I don't know about you but I'd rather go out trying to –"  
"I'M NOTHING LIKE YOU!" the other man roared, swiping at him, almost cutting his throat, "I'm nothing like you... He...he told me...what he saw in you. You're _honourable_. You keep your word. I _don't_. I lie, I cheat, I steal. I'm a criminal. A monster. And I don't care. Never have, never will. Why should I? You...? You _worship_ your guilt. You think it makes you a better man than me."

"What are you talking about?"  
The Marquis laughed.  
"Oh, yes, I know. You think you're a monster. But you still think you're better because you hate yourself for it. And so you devote yourself to the people you manipulate, promising yourself that one day, _one day_, you'll make it up to them. You're not the master. You're their slave." He broke off, expression quizzical. "I'm not sure whether I should pity you or hate you for that. The Templars...they follow me without question. Partly fear. Mostly because they trust me to make them rich. They use me as I use them. I don't care about them. And now they're dead because I led them here. I don't care about them. Now I've proved it..."  
He trailed off with a sigh. Then he looked straight at Mustang and it came home to the General that his doppelgänger really was truly and irreversibly insane.  
"We live life on stolen time," L'enfer explained, quite calmly, "We should have died a thousand times. A hundred thousand. But we cheated the reaper. Stole days and hours and minutes. We chose whether that means our lives have any worth. I thought it meant it did. I thought it meant I should horde everything, make the most of what I had, take whatever I wanted because soon...there'd be nothing. I think you thought the other way round. Maybe it's all the other way around." He smiled a blissful smile, far more disturbing than any contemptuous smirk. "Doesn't matter now. I've only got a few more minutes, perhaps, to do what I want. So I'm going to make the most of it."

He charged and Mustang ran. He cannoned into case after case, toppling some, leaving others to be knocked aside by his pursuer. At one point, he managed to pick up a stool standing in a corner and fling it at L'enfer's head. It staggered him and Mustang took advantage, driving his shoulder into his stomach. The tide quickly turned back and the Flame Alchemist's spine was nearly broken against a bookcase.

Even the fight against Bradley hadn't been this bad. Then, at least, he'd had his alchemy. He had had a decent weapon with which to fight back.

His foot slipped on a stray piece of glass as he desperately scrambled out of the way of another frenzied assault. He managed not to fall over but it slowed him down enough for the Marquis to score a hit on his back. He yelped as the steel bit into his bruised flesh and it spurred him on. There was a door at the other end. If he could get through it, he would at least be leading L'enfer away from Ivan and there was a chance that he would find something that would help him fend off the madman.

He closed on the door, a good twenty seconds in the lead, and was reaching to open it when it swung outwards of its own volition. A woman with golden hair stood framed there. Mustang hit the brakes but one of his feet caught her ankle. She toppled into his arms and they tumbled to the floor. Triumphantly, the Marquis leapt over them and slammed the door, pressing his back against it.

Mustang looked at the woman she looked back.  
"Riza – ack!"  
She punched him in the throat and fought to get away from him. Then she caught sight of the Marquis and her panic dissolved into confusion.  
"What...oh...no..."  
"Elizabeth..." He rolled the word around his mouth, tasting it. "Well, this is a stroke of luck. I did so want to say goodbye to you."  
Riza – no, _Elizabeth_, went completely white and pushed herself into the corner, a pale, trapped animal.

Anger boiled up inside Mustang, all his frustration at being powerless melting into a white-hot wave of pure fury. He threw himself at L'enfer and brought him down. They rolled over and over, kicking and punching like school children. Somehow though, the Marquis managed to keep hold of his sword and soon he was beating Mustang off with it. They ended up on their feet again, Mustang backing way, cradling a slashed right arm. L'enfer's eyes flicked to Elizabeth and he grinned.  
"You like her? She's mine. And you've got your own anyway. No need to be chivalrous. No need for gallantry. She's not your concern." The sabre wavered, aimed at Mustang's heart. "You wouldn't begrudge me that much, would you? Not when the world's ending."

The back of Mustang's legs struck the remains of a cabinet. He started to edge around it.  
"Stop this."  
"Why should I?" L'enfer demanded, "What have I got left? They're all dead. Solomon, Daniel, Luke, Issacher, all of them. They've been..._eaten_. Torn apart. Cain...Abel...all of them. We'll go the same way soon. So why should I stop? Why should I do _anythin_g?"

As the sword flew at him, Mustang hooked the now-detached side of the cabinet up with his foot and grabbed it, holding it up as a shield. The sabre struck and stuck. The Marquis tore it out and slashed, the blow sending painful shocks up his target's arms. Mustang stood firm though, even pushing the board out a bit. Incensed, L'enfer began to beat at his shield, the sword cutting deeper every time. An ominous wooden crack announced that the barrier was not going to survive for very much longer. Mustang tried to think of something else but his mind seemed to have become disconnected and he could only watch his own, mania-distorted face as it came closer and closer.

And then it was gone, pulling back and Marquis was yelling – _screaming_ in pain and fury.

The woman who looked like Hawkeye jumped away from him, her hands bleeding. The base of one of the largest pieces of glass protruded from the Templar's side. His shirt and coat were rapidly being soaked by blood and he doubled over in agony, feet unsteady. Elizabeth dropped to her knees, whatever had driven her to act abandoning her. Mustang fell too, having suddenly lost anything to push against, the board leaving his grip. He reached her side on hands and knees, placing himself in front of her.

The Marquis was going to die. The improvised dagger had probably punctured his stomach and he would certainly lose a fatal amount of blood. But he was also insane and that kept him moving even as his body failed. He raised his sabre high, straightening despite the wound, despite the glass still sticking out of him.

Mustang knew for a certainty that this time he would not be able to get out the way, not if he was to protect Elizabeth. He braced himself and watched as the sword came down.

He was so convinced that it was going to kill him that he didn't quite believe it when it swerved and missed, didn't fully comprehend what he was seeing as the Marquis' throat burst open.

It was only after his ears had registered the solid _thunk_ of the body on the floor that he finally accepted that he was still alive, with every possibility of this state of affairs persisting for the foreseeable future. That future might be far shorter than normal but he really was still breathing. His thoughts finally turned to the question of _how_ that was still the case. He looked up from the gradually growing pool of arterial blood in which the Marquis' head lay.  
Hawkeye stood in the doorway. She was holding, of all things, a crossbow. This she gradually lowered, presumably convinced that it would not be required again. She caught the expression on Mustang's face and (though he might have imagined it) a faint blush rose in her cheeks.  
"Sorry sir," she said with no audible trace of embarrassment, "It took me a while to find the bolts."  
Mustang's brain checked his memory and found that things had moved so fast that no more than two minutes must have passed since Elizabeth had come in, probably far less. He wondered if that had felt as long for Hawkeye as it had for him.

He also wondered what her reaction would be if he stood up, took her in his arms and kissed her until they ran out of air.

Probably not good, given the circumstances.  
"Thank you, Hawkeye," he said instead and meant it possibly more than anything he had ever said.  
She cleared her throat and walked over to him, setting the crossbow down and quickly examining his injuries before turning her attention to her counterpart.  
"None of your cuts are very deep, sir. Can you walk?"  
"Yes, I think so."  
"Then you should check on Ivan, sir."  
She tore a strip of cloth from her shirt sleeve to bind up Elizabeth's hands.

Mustang did as he was told.

* * *

The big Roma was stunned and bruised but fortunately had escaped mostly unscathed. There was a dark stain across his hair but the actual injury was little more than a graze, and the gash on his chest was just as superficial. Once this was ascertained, Hawkeye set about bandaging Mustang's cuts. He felt very ungallantly disappointed that she tore those bandages from his jacket – though since she was soaked through, there very little that he needed to imagine anyway.

The aphrodisiac effects of near death wore off quickly, the shuddering earth reminding him exactly far up the creek they were and exactly how few paddles there were to go around. The four of them left the destroyed museum as fast as they could collectively manage, the recovered pistol firmly in Hawkeye's hands. Mustang, having insisted, was carrying the crossbow and the remaining bolts. He had a realistic idea of how good a weapon it would be in his hands but figured that they only had so many bullets and if nothing else, he was sure he could hit someone with it. Ivan, of course, still had his knife while Elizabeth – Falconer – carried nothing. With her hands sliced up, there was little she could use.

Hardly an impressive fighting force but better than nothing.

They got as far as the top of the stairs before something went wrong.

The darkness had swallowed the entrance hall. There were eyes everywhere, and teeth everywhere else. Hungry hands clawed up the walls. Mustang swore, Ivan too. Falconer made a strangled noise. Hawkeye hissed.  
"How did you get in?" Mustang asked her.  
"There are back stairs...but those...things were coming up the hill after us. I don't think that will be a safe way out."  
"Then we're trapped," said Falconer, softly.

They stared into the oozing blackness, none of them able to resist a feeling of defeat.

And then they saw that something, right at the centre of the writhing shadows, was glowing.

And the glow was getting bigger.

* * *

_A/N: I spent so long thinking up different ways this fight could go. The museum setting was there from the word go but other than that... Would Mustang and the Marquis have a sword fight? Would either of them end up using alchemy? What would Ivan's contribution be? Who was going to fire the killing shot - Hawkeye or Falconer (it was always going to be one of them)? What would they all be wearing? No, seriously. And then what happens? It comes to be in bed one night when I'm trying to get to sleep and then I can't work on anything else until it's written!_

_And now it is. And now there are only four more chapters to go. Gulp._

_Credit where credit's due: the wonderful Dailenna was kind enough to beta read this for me to make sure I didn't let you all down with it!  
_


	36. Chapter 31: The Saints Go Marching

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just trying to finish this damn story!_

** Chapter 31: The Saints Go Marching**

Somehow, that nothing stood in their way made it worse.

Ed had expected to run into the Hunger. He had been certain of it. That was the way his luck went, wasn't it? If anything could go wrong, it would go wrong, in a way that was infinitely worse than he had imagined. Fate, God or whatever had had it in for him for years and never, ever let an opportunity to make his life miserable slide by. That was just a fact.

The tension was, therefore, killing him. Every so often, his auto-mail would creak and he would realise he had been squeezing his fist tight enough to strain the plates. A few minutes later he would be doing it again. And a few minutes after that. If something didn't happen soon, there would be little bits of metal ricocheting off the walls.

It was the silence, mainly. They were deep enough into the building that they could no longer hear the rain or the thunder. Now the only noise came from their footsteps, the shuffling, stuttering sound of a group of people trying to move about as quietly as possible. There was nothing else. Not a whisper. The floor wasn't moving any more, either. The drumbeat had stopped. There was only a dead, stifling calm.

The others were just as bad. Cain was sweating and kept adjusting his grip on the makeshift bomb he was carrying. The other Templar – the one whose name Ed still didn't know – was no better, constantly trying to see in all directions at once, making him resemble a red-haired owl. Daniel was slightly more collected but he twitched every time the auto-mail made a sound and glared daggers at the culprit. With a jolt, Ed remembered they'd left Luke sedated in the infirmary. He found he felt more guilty about that than he thought he should. Still, the man's hysteria would have been a liability. Lazarus was quiet and evidently terrified.

He had not expected Helen to cope with the situation as well as she was. This had nothing to do with her being a woman, of course. No one could live around Winry, Hawkeye, Ross and the rest of a surprisingly long list without coming to the conclusion that chauvinists were about as wrong as it was possible to be. She had just seemed too brittle, too easily spooked to have stayed so stoically calm. But she had. This was, Ed thought, mostly due to Edward, who had stuck to her side like glue. _He_, of course, hadn't stopped smiling since they'd started out. His pride at his achievement with the sealed walls radiated from his battered, bandaged frame, making him look taller.

Which would have annoyed the hell out of Ed if he had bothered to notice it, given that Edward already had a height advantage of a couple of inches.

They rounded another corner. The stairs down to the basement gaped before them. Ed stopped and frowned.  
"Where've the bodies gone?"  
"What d'yah mean?" Daniel demanded, "What bodies?"  
"There were bodies. Between here and the infirmary, when we ran there earlier. I haven't seen them."  
"Maybe he vanished them," Cain suggested, nervously indicating Edward, "Like the doors..."  
"Nah." Ed pointed at the wall. "The reaction didn't get this far."  
"Perhaps those shadows...came back for them," said Helen.  
"Maybe..." Ed's frown became contemplative. "But why didn't they eat all of 'em to begin with? If they were going to, they'd have...unless..."  
"Unless what?" snapped Daniel.  
"Unless it's something to do with how they're getting through in the first place. There has to be some kinda...gap they're coming through. Maybe it's the array – the big one beneath us. Maybe they're...coming out of the lines. And maybe they can only get so far from them...to begin with, anyway."  
"So...what?"  
"So what you do if there was something holding you back? Like a...a rope tied round your middle. And every time you ran away, it tugged you back a bit."  
Helen bit her lip.  
"You would...try and pull it out of the wall...or whatever the other end was tied to."  
"Yeah. And the only way to do that is to go back and try again. And again. Until it breaks..."

The alchemist grunted. He took a step towards the stairs.  
"S'only an idea. But if it's right, we need to keep moving."  
"And if yah're wrong," Daniel pointed out, "There could be thousands a' those things waiting for us. Or comin' up behind us."  
Cain went white and threw a panicked look over his shoulder.  
"Or that," Ed agreed and started downwards.

Faced with the choice of following the one member of their party who seemed to have a clue what to do or staying where they were to wait in the silence for the shadows to wake up again, they voted with their feet. Soon the half-lit tunnel was full of crunching footsteps and the sounds of people manoeuvring their dangerous burdens around the wreckage.

* * *

The big wooden door had been shut again. Ed walked up and down a couple of feet in front, examining every inch of it and the wall around it. The anteroom seemed impossibly tense, the stale air practically quivering. Like before a thunderstorm, only a hundred times more oppressive. It smelt of dust and ozone and dank earth. And still, nothing else moved or made a noise. At the very least, the shattered joists should have been shifting, the debris should have been settling. But they weren't. The sounds of seven people breathing filled the suddenly cramped space. The atmosphere was swiftly suffocating.

"What are we waiting for?" the unnamed Templar asked.  
"Him ta be sure we ain't gonna die tha moment he opens that," Daniel retorted, "At least, that had better be tha reason..."  
"It is," Ed growled.  
He took a deep breath and placed his auto-mail hand against the door. Nothing happened. He moved the hand along and pushed. It swung easily inwards.

Golden light washed out through the gap, throwing their shadows sharply behind them.

Daniel hissed. Ed put his flesh hand over his eyes, squinting. The ring was still there, floating above the centre of the chamber. Everything below it was still_ not there_. The gated openings were dark and empty. There was no sign of anything else, human or otherwise. He watched for a while, until he was satisfied that this was not going to change.

"Keep to the edges. Don't go near the reaction. Put the bombs around the walls. The ones that need mixing go closest to the doors. The ones that need fuses go as far in as the fuses 'll stretch. Ones we need to shoot go where you can shoot 'em." He plucked a couple of bottles from Cain's shaking hands. "Then we set it off and run. If this works, _Benedict_ will get dragged back when his reaction stops and then he'll be in the middle of a collapsing room."  
No one asked what would happen if it didn't.

They edged inside, single-file, splitting up to keep close to the walls. Ed went anti-clockwise, half an eye on the blazing halo. Its light remained constant, a steady and brilliant reminder of just how much power was flowing through Chambers' reaction. Without warning, his mind went back to a pair of lonely children in an empty house, plotting and scheming, convinced that alchemy could do anything, even turn back time. For so long, he had looked back on his younger self with anger and humiliation. How could he ever have been so naïve? But here he was, standing in front of proof that alchemy really could do anything – even turn the universe inside out. "We're the closest things to gods." That's what he'd boasted to Rose, all those years ago. He'd meant it too – _believed it_, just as strongly as he had come to believe that he had been utterly wrong. And yet now, he was faced with an alchemist – an insane, amateur alchemist – who was making himself into something that might as well have been a god.

Was something following him around, Ed wondered, waiting for him to start believing something so that it could prove him wrong? That would explain a lot...

He snorted softly. He couldn't remember what he was supposed to do with the bottles he was carrying, so he just put them next to one of the openings. They would go up with everything else. If everything went to plan. Which was obviously going to be the complicated part. Straightening, he looked around. Helen and Cain were checking over the fuses to their chemicals, each making sure the other's was fixed properly. Lazarus and the other Templar were doing the same on the opposite side of the room. Edward was watching them curiously. He caught Ed looking and smiled. Ed ignored him and walked around to see where Daniel had got to.

The Havoc imitation was still standing by the door. No. Not standing. He was backing slowly through it. When he saw Ed coming, he stopped and smiled a sickly smile. Ed opened his mouth to ask what the bastard thought he was doing. Too late, he figured out that was the wrong move.

Daniel drew his pistol as fast as Hawkeye and fired three times, straight at the bottles he had put near Helen's. The bottles that Ed knew for certain were ones he had told them to shoot to set off.

There was no time to act. Even if he had been closer, he probably couldn't have done anything to deflect the bullets. He threw his arm across his face, automatically bracing himself against impending pain as he swore hard enough to turn the air blue.

Nothing happened. He lowered his arm. Daniel was looking at his gun in disbelief.  
"Laws in flux!" Edward shouted victoriously.  
"Frickin' double-crossin' bastard!" Ed howled.  
They both ran at the Templar, Edward following Ed's lead. Wide-eyed, Daniel aimed his useless weapon at them, hands obviously unsteady. They slammed to a stop, scarcely a foot away. His confidence returned for the few brief moments before it dawned on him that Ed was staring past him.  
"What the _hell_?"  
He whirled.

The fat English doctor stood immediately behind him, grinning grotesquely.

Daniel's yell cut off almost at once. He collapsed backwards, his chest a gaping mess. Graves stepped over him. The grin did not falter. Now that he was fully in the alchemic glare, the lines of black _gunk_ criss-crossing his body were clear for all to see. They had completely covered his clothes in some places, wrapping around his limbs and his torso before climbing up to disappear into his hair. Several weaved together at his neck, merging into a crude, ugly half-face, one whose mouth was gaping in hysterical mirth.

Ed swallowed, forcing bile back down. He knew what he was seeing, although he still couldn't quite believe that it was possible. It had to be like a homunculus, he reasoned, only with the Gate Child on the outside of the body, not infused into it. That was how Eckhart had still been able to think, in her twisted, violent way, after going through the Gate. She had travelled through so quickly that the Hunger that had managed to latch onto her had been dragged out into the other world. Perhaps plastering itself over her had been the only way it had been able to survive.

Then he looked closer and realised what he was seeing clashed with what he remembered. The bile threatened to come back up. Whatever had happened to Graves, it was not identical to what had happened to Eckhart, not by a long way. _Her_ eyes had not been rolled back in her head. _Her_ face had not been immobile. _Her_ steps had not been halting and mechanical.

_She_ had survived having her body infested.

Helen gave a strangled cry. The thing animating Graves' corpse turned it towards her. Fire suddenly bloomed against its shoulder, stopping it in its tracks. The nameless Templar fumbled with a lighter, reaching for another bottle to throw. Lazarus cowered behind him, ashen and terrified. The Gate Child's mock-face shifted, its mouth turning downwards. Graves' arms jerked up. Ed yelled a warning. The Templar hesitated. Black spears erupted from Graves' hands.

Ed and Edward clapped simultaneously. Energy tore up the floor and catapulted Graves out of the reaction chamber. His form disintegrated mid-flight, ripped to shreds by the violence of the alchemy. Ed spared a glance for the two men who had been transfixed by the spears. There was no help he could give them. Cain yelled a warning.

Oily blackness burst from Graves' remains, the oh-so familiar coiling mass of hands and eyes. It reared up, filling the doorway, overflowing, impossibly fast, coming straight for them. Edward was directly in its path. All he could see was boiling shadow flecked with violet. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung limply open as images came crashing across his mind, elusive and familiar at the same time.

The Hunger halted. And _recoiled_, its mad, jumbled gaze fixed upon the homunculus man, utterly confused.

That confusion saved Edward's life.

Ed heaved him away, practically throwing him towards where Helen was screaming his name. The Hunger's confusion abated and it rushed at the alchemist eagerly. He flung himself out of its path, clapping again. The electric-blue fire sliced through the bodiless creature, but for all the difference it made, he might as well have done nothing. It poured over and around, indifferent to being cut in two, intent on seizing its prey and dragging him into empty oblivion.

And if not for the burst of gold that consumed it and eradicated it from any kind of existence, it would have done precisely that.

The after-image of the blast faded. The room went utterly still for exactly as long as it took Ed to get his ragged breathing under control. He knew without a doubt what he would see when he got up but did so anyway. After all, he figured it was probably the only thing left that he could do. He turned round.

Benedict Chambers regarded him impassively from beneath the golden halo.

* * *

_A/N: ................................what? You were expecting me to give up on the cliffhangers _now_? Never!_


	37. Chapter 32: Breaking the Circle

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just three chapters from the end!_

_A/N: Due to a slight mix up - most likely the carnivorous nature of MSN - Dailenna's betaed version of this went astray. Updates are in progress!  
_

**Chapter 32: Breaking the Circle**

Helen wrapped her arms around Edward and hugged him tight. It was pure reflex, an impulse to somehow do the impossible and protect him from things she could not understand and could scarcely imagine. He shivered once and moaned.

Mr Chambers had parted the emptiness in the middle of the room as easily as one might part a pair of curtains. His hands were clasped behind his back and his suit was as pristine as it had always been.  
"Mr Elric," he said, voice empty of inflection, "Are you attempting to attract my attention?"  
Without waiting for a reply, he looked from one bomb to the next, glasses shining in the light.

Each one _evaporated_, bottle and all just bubbling away.  
"Mother of God," Cain whispered.  
His gun dropped from his fingers, clattering on the bare stone. No one paid him any attention. Ed looked ill. He managed not to sound it though.  
"Great. Now try that on _yourself_."  
"Your belligerence means nothing. You are insignificant now, a component that no longer has a function."

With a painful-sounding smack, Ed's hands met. His auto-mail melted and reformed, the whole forearm transmuted into a single blade. Defiantly, he went into a fighting stance, feet planted apart, arms held ready, eyes narrowed. Chambers did not visibly react.  
"As you are well aware, any physical assault against me will fail."  
"That so?" The young man's lips peeled back. "Wanna bet that's gonna stop me?"  
"It will not. You are foolish enough to believe that stubbornness is a virtue. _I_ am going to stop you."  
With that, Chambers flexed the fingers of his left hand.

Ed screamed, his spine curving backwards, his arms straining in their sockets. In agony, he was pulled from the floor and left to hang suspended, spread-eagle, in thin air. He screamed again. Chambers' head tilted slightly to one side.  
"Mr Elric, please understand that the only reason you remain alive is that I do not wish to risk the disruption of an incorrectly polarised 'soul' entering this side of the Gate before I have completed the task of rebuilding it. It is far safer for me to exert a fraction of my present power on the reactions keeping you in your present state."  
The tortured boy choked an obscenity, clenching his jaw against the pain.

Edward abruptly twisted out of Helen's grip. He dashed out to put himself between his counterpart and his former master. Glaring, he clapped once. Lightning sprang from his feet, playing out over broken stone slabs. The ruined floor heaved itself up into a tidal wave, rushing towards Chambers in a great, molten arc.

He did not so much as blink. The wave crumbled, becoming inanimate rock once more. Ed plummeted with it, luckily stunned with pain so that his bones did not snap when he hit the ground. Edward screeched as he was scooped up in his place and almost casually crushed against the wall above the door.

Helen started forward, driven by an impulse that overrode any desire to survive. Her toe caught on something. She looked down to find Cain's discarded gun at her feet.

The world seemed to stop.

When she had first met Edward March, he had been a fifteen year old, full of an exuberant intelligence that bordered on energetic mania. He was kind, brilliant and away from home for the first time. She had been ten years older, an unmarried nurse working at one of the London hospitals. Edward and his sponsor, Professor Van Hohenheim had come to stay at Mrs McKinley's boarding house, in the rooms below hers. They had first started talking over the evening meal and from then on, she had seen Edward almost every day. She had wondered if the Professor had not been related to him. They looked a great deal like one another. But, no, he was from somewhere on the continent – which explained his accent – whilst Edward was from Wiltshire. They were both part of the Donovan Organisation, a teacher and pupil in the art of chemistry.

Despite amused comments from her colleagues about 'her young man', there was nothing untoward in her relationship with the handsome, vibrant student. He was an only child, suffering from home-sickness and intimidated by the dense city streets. She was the second oldest and only girl in a set of five children and still felt pangs from not having her family around her. Despite their differing temperaments, they very much enjoyed each other's company and together staved off loneliness. They had played chess (which she rarely won) and card games (which she usually did). They had walked around the parks when the weather had been fine. They had visited the museums when it was not. Mostly though, they had simply sat and talked.

The conversation had inevitably and often been about the war but Edward had always been ready to enthuse about his work, dazzling her with rapid-fire scientific terminology before slowing down and explaining what he was actually talking about. She always laughed when he got halfway through a description and the penny dropped that he had left her behind five minutes ago. He would go bright red and sheepishly ask where he had lost her.

He was not perfect. No one was. Not being able to understand something would make him irritable and short tempered. Sometimes, he was snappish with people without really meaning to and he would gobble his food down as though he did not have the time to waste on such necessities. And he could bury himself in books so deeply that he missed what was going on around him. But he was no worse in those regards than any other boy trying to work out how to grow up and she had come to care for him a great deal.

The air raid had cut their friendship cruelly short. The Professor had been the one who told her, breaking the news with extraordinary gentleness. There had been tears in his eyes. She had not seen him again after that. She wished she had, so that she could have told him of the miracle, the misstep of fate that had returned Edward to her.

For so long she had tended him as the impossible happened and he got better. Each day, she would swear to herself that they would walk along the Thames again, even if it took half a lifetime. Graves' ghoulish ambitions to be heralded as some sort of genius healer could not have meant less to her. All that mattered, all that had ever mattered, was seeing him standing and smiling, proudly showing off his latest achievement.

And, of course, now she had seen that. Not as she had imagined and she supposed they would never walk by the river after all, but that was not the point. The point was that he was alive and whole.

And she discovered that she was willing to do anything to stop that being taken away from him.

She knelt and picked the gun up. It was heavy and ugly. She raised it, taking aim, drawing on memories of her older brother's light-hearted attempts to teach her how to shoot. Chambers had his back to her, his attention on Edward. She did not hesitate. Alan would have thought it terribly bad form to attack a man when his back was turned. She did not care.

The gun kicked. Once. Twice. Three, four times. Edward fell from the wall and sprawled next to Ed. Helen felt her arms drop to her sides.

Chambers turned around. He plucked the bullets from where they had stopped, a hand's breadth from his skin. He looked at her.

She saw herself reflected in his spectacles. She was smiling.

* * *

Ed's eyes did not want to open but he made them. Every cell in his body was shouting in outrage. He shoved their complaints aside and fought for focus.

Edward lay to his right, a jumble of thin limbs and bandages. Chambers had turned away, releasing them both. He was holding something. Cain was flat against the wall. Helen stood in front of him, smiling, a gun held limply in her hand.

Ed tried to call out to her, to tell her to run. Chambers made a dismissive flicking motion.

The bullets caught her in her stomach and threw her into Cain's arms. They both went down.

Pure, undiluted hatred took the place of Ed's blood. It hit him with a shock of adrenaline that rushed down into his legs and made them _move_. He was mid-jump before it registered with his brain that Edward up as well, going for Chambers, howling like a wounded animal, striking the man at chest height, clawing at his face. With passionless ease, the attack was turned aside, the ragged homunculus man knocked senseless by a rush of force. Furiously, Ed swung the auto-mail blade, throwing all his strength behind it.

It connected with the golden halo.

The explosion shook the room.

When his vision cleared, Ed was back on the floor and his arm was gone. The socket had been cracked open and all that was left of the rest was a few blacked chunks of shoulder. If that weren't bad enough, someone was shoving a blunt stick into the back of his eyes while an army marched up and down inside his chest and someone else attacked his face with a blowtorch. Worse still, the halo was completely unaffected.

"You knew that that would not work," Chambers told him calmly, "If you cannot appreciate the impotency of your position, I fear I shall have to incapacitate you via far cruder means."  
He pointed.

Ed's leg – the pioneering example of Rockbell auto-mail that had survived battle, dismantlement, monsters and Elrics without failing, the testament to Winry's skill and the technology of another world – went to pieces. The plates and tubes, the joints and motors, the nuts and bolts, they all came apart in a clinking cascade, leaving him surrounded by a sea of components. His balance shifted, he lurched and had to put his remaining arm out to brace himself.

Chambers folded his hands behind his back.  
"I have work to complete. That the Hunger was able to enter this room was distraction enough. I cannot afford to allow you to hold my attention away from the Gate any longer."  
He made to close the nothingness around him. Ed wanted to shout. He wanted to do something, anything to not just sit there and dumbly watch Chambers get away.

He couldn't make a noise and he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Damnit, this wasn't _fair_!

* * *

Benedict Chambers prepared to return to the task of remaking creation. He could not describe the experience of reconstructing the Gate, of taking one Truth and replacing it with another. It was not that he was unimaginative, for he was not, but that there were no words in any language in either world to describe this form of alchemy. It was on a level so truly fundamental that any attempt to encapsulate it in the feeble grunting of a select group of higher primates was doomed to absolute failure. Suffice to say that if he had been a man who believed in God, he would have been of the opinion that the act was worthy of the Almighty.

Mr Chambers did not believe in God. He believed in reality and that everything that one could find within its bounds could be manipulated. He believed that alchemy had for too long been squandered by people who were complacent and ignorant and who had no real notion of how powerful a resource they had at their disposal. He believed that he would be able to change all things about until they were set in a way that would be beneficial to his world. He believed that to attempt this feat was the logical and correct response to the circumstances. Above all, he believed he was right.

He began to take the step back to the place in between, to resume the transmutation briefly interrupted by the presence of alien bodies in the reaction system. The Hunger was a nuisance, an unavoidable contaminant that had to be flushed out. Venting the stronger parts into the surrounding universes had been a successful tactic but one that risked them interfering with the main array. Fortunately, he had been able to counter that interference without –

Something tickled the edge of his heightened senses. Something distinctly familiar and immensely unwelcome.

He turned back to the chamber, the faintest of frowns playing over his brow. The source of the troubling sensation was immediately identifiable. One of the gated tunnels, behind the fallen Edward Elric, was slowly flooding with pure white light. As he observed it grow, it encompassed the bars. They melted clean away.

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Mr Chambers drew his power a little closer, knitting it into new shapes, ready to let a little of it loose, to rework the matter and forces around him as he saw fit. Ready to defend himself and his efforts from those who would see them undone.

Two shapes walked out of the light. They drew it with them and it settled around their shoulders like a cloak. One held a staff. One held nothing. They looked at him and he looked at them.

He recognised who they appeared to be, recognised Alphonse Elric and the gypsy clairvoyant who had no name but Noah.

However, he also recognised who they had become, who now looked out through their eyes.

The Gatekeepers had come to do battle with him.

* * *

_A/N: Sooooo........anyone see that coming? Or care to guess what happens next.......?_


	38. Chapter 33: Killing the Truth

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just...well, just read on._

** Chapter 33: Killing the Truth**

Once, long ago, Alphonse Elric had been the Philosophers Stone. Not held it, not used it, _been_ it. For a few brief weeks, his soul had been bound not to a suit of ancient armour but to a mobile mass of steel-coated red stone, coursing with an incredible amount of power. It had been horrible – knowing how many people had died to provide the fuel for the stone, it could hardly have been otherwise – but he had also felt like the only thing that kept him from flying was force of habit. He had been so _light_, so free of any kind of limitation that it had made him giddy. Ed had worn himself out trying to keep up. Al could have carried him easily if he had let him. He could have carried a _train_.

That was the nearest he had ever come to what it felt like to have the Gatekeepers soaring through him.

They did not stay still. One of them did not just 'ride' inside him. They flowed around him and Noah, a breath of wind one minute, a breaking wave the next, colouring the world until it shone with a thousand different hues. He could _see_ the alchemy filling the room, see the paths it was taking by trails of juggled molecules and rearranged atoms. It was so beautiful that he almost missed the tangled knots of bright lines that told him there were other people in the room. He blinked, focusing on what was beneath the colour. One of the Templars was cradling a woman's body. Without a trace of doubt, he knew she was dead. A younger man was slowly, painfully pulling himself over the floor towards her, his face and hair so like Ed's but his body whole and full of a deep emptiness. Al wanted to help them, to reach out and sweep them all away to somewhere they would be safe. He couldn't. Not yet.

Ed lay beside him now, surrounded by what little was left of his auto-mail. Winry was probably going to beat him senseless for that. He was looking up at them, face a picture of utter shock. Al couldn't keep himself from smiling.

"Don't worry brother." The Gatekeepers had done something to his voice, making it echo over and over. "Everything's going to be alright."  
It felt good to be the one saying that. But right then, everything felt good.

The brightest knot of light shifted and Al laid eyes upon the man responsible for all that had happened. He wondered how Chambers could possibly move with so much alchemy wound around his body. It was of every shade, every shape, every style, an entire universe's knowledge bound together and _twisted_. The sheer weight of it all was making the world bend and crack. It was wrong. It had no right to be there, not like that.

Chamber raised his hands and brought them together. Array after array wove together, so many that they would have been blinding if you could have seen with normal eyes. Diligence whispered to Al and told him to strike his staff on the ground. He did and suddenly the arrays fell apart, the energy streaming into the wood, earthed. The floor repaired itself, the stone slabs smoothed back into shape. More arrays formed, harsher, destructive. Those too were dragged down and the anteroom outside was mended, the beams lifted back into place, the walls closed up. _Again_, Chambers drew invisible circles with his mind and _again_, they drained away. The staff grew hot in Al's hand.

Nothing had been done to it to make it into an alchemic conduit. Nothing _needed_ to be done to it. A small part of the energy passing through was constantly repairing the damage done by the rest. Said rest dispersed itself into the biggest array Al had ever created. Not that he really had created it. It had been there waiting, ready-made.

The curve of the earth was not perfect. But no circle you can draw in the real world can ever be perfect.

* * *

Noah's head was awash with voices.

High and deep, loud and soft, male and female, they rose and fell around her, sounding like nothing so much as a forest in the wind. It should have been overwhelming. But it wasn't. It was breathtaking, certainly, to be able to catch glimpses of so many lives. The Gatekeepers, though, made it bearable. They cut nothing out. They did not exclude a single thought. They simply unlocked all the doors in her mind and let the sounds of a million souls breeze through.

One in particular was louder than the rest. It was different, too. There were other voices mixed into it, shouting to be heard over a low rumbling chant that was threatening to drown them out. And that chant was getting louder, submerging its surroundings, becoming stronger.

It was Chambers, tiring of his failure to beat Al with alchemy, trying to attack them with the force of his will. Just as the Gatekeepers had predicted.

Noah had never thought about her power in terms of sound before. She had only ever seen the pictures people kept in their memories. Yet it was so obvious now that noise and vision were one and the same when you were inside someone's a soul. They were made from the same stuff, written in the same way – all you had to do was change the way you looked at them and they swapped places. Suddenly the strength of someone's will came down to how loud they were shouting. And all you had to do to keep them out was to shout louder.

Chambers fought hard. He tried to smother her, to strangle her, to wear her down with the screams of dying children and the shrieks of carrion crows. He dredged up the worst things he could find and made them sing to her, a chorus of thundering malice. But she was Diligence and Patience and Abstinence and she could sing in every voice that had ever lived.

They were evenly matched. He could not break her, she would not break him.

Stalemate.

* * *

Chambers had dismissed his alchemy. He stared at Al and Noah expressionlessly.  
"How are you countering me?"  
Al smiled.  
"Is something wrong?"  
"You should not have such power."  
The younger Elric started walking clockwise around the edge of the central array.  
"Are you sure?"  
Noah began walking in the opposite direction.  
"Why shouldn't we?" she asked.  
Chambers did not answer, nor did he make a move to keep them in his line of sight.

"It's about knowledge," Al explained benignly.  
"About the Truth," Noah added.  
"Knowing how the world works is how we change it."  
"The Truth _is_ the way the world works."  
"The Gatekeepers were born from the Truth."  
"And we are the Gatekeepers."  
"So we know everything they know."  
"So we know everything," she stated.  
"Therefore we have the power to stop you," he concluded.  
They were directly behind Chambers now. He did not reply. They kept walking.

"Your premise is flawed," he said eventually, "Your Truth is gone. I have dismantled it. I have transformed it. It can give you no power."  
"Because you have put your truth in its place?" Al asked lightly.  
"Yes."  
Noah smiled but kept silent. Al gave the impression of thinking hard.  
"How did you do that?"  
"I broke your Gate," Chambers answered coldly, "Your Truth died with it."  
"The Truth can't die," objected Noah.  
"If it could," argued Al, "it wouldn't be the Truth."  
"That is incorrect," came the response, "You appear to have forgotten that I have had access to all that you know."  
"Oh, yes..." Noah frowned. "You captured Kindness."  
"I know what she knows. I am well aware that 'the Truth' is mutable. Through it, reality is decided. Thus, by changing the Truth, I have changed reality."

They came round in front him again and Al glanced at Chambers without breaking step.  
"But the Truth is decided by reality. It's made from the souls of everyone who has ever lived. That means you've got it backwards."  
"The flow of time has no bearing on these matters. A change in one will be reflected in the other. Replacing one Truth with another has replaced one reality with another."  
"But you haven't changed reality," Noah persisted, "We can still use our Truth against you."  
Chambers' eyes twitched ever so slightly.  
"Clearly an anomaly due to the incompleteness of the transmutation process."  
"Are you sure?" Al sounded surprised. "A moment ago you were saying we couldn't possibly have any power."  
"A hasty conclusion. I expected to have effected a greater change by now. This distraction must have reduced the rate at which my work is progressing."

Thus satisfied that he had resolved the situation, Chambers willed himself to recommence his transit back to the Gate.

Something prevented him from doing so.

He lifted his head a fraction and, for the first time, turned to look directly at the younger man.  
"What are you doing?"  
His voice was very quiet. Al spoke just as quietly.  
"According to you, we can't be doing anything."  
"I have revised my analysis. What are you doing?"  
"Why don't you tell us? You're the one who's 'replacing' the Truth."  
Silence fell. It lasted nearly half a minute, broken only by footsteps.  
"You are creating a circle," Chambers said at last, "Using alchemy to counteract mine."  
This time, it was Noah who smiled.  
"Yes. And you can't stop us."  
"Nor can you stop the reaction I have begun."  
"We don't have to."

Taking up the conversation again, Al spoke in the tone of a lecturer trying to correct an over-enthusiastic student.  
"You still think you've done what you wanted to do. That what you saw in Kindness' mind and what you thought you saw are the same thing. But what if you got it backwards? What if what you think is the cause is really the effect? You think by changing the Truth you can change everything. But what if to change the Truth, you'd have to change everything? The Gate's in everyone, after all..."  
"Those are reflections of the true Gate." Chambers blinked. "I am not misinterpreting the information."  
"You're human," Noah told him, "How could you understand all of it?"  
"I have taken Kindness within me," he stated bluntly, "I have all her faculties at my command."  
"Really? Then tell me what a bat thinks when it flies. Tell me what it feels like to swim in the deepest sea. Tell me what a star sounds like when it's born."  
"Those are meaningless."  
"No." Al's staff hit the flags with a loud crack. "They are part of the Truth. Kindness would understand those things. You cannot. You are human. And you cannot be one of us. No matter how much of her power you took, you could only believe, could only see what you wanted to."

"You are incorrect."  
The contradiction came almost immediately. Al shook his head.  
"No. You've convinced yourself to see things one way. You can't see that it could be wrong. But that doesn't change the Truth that you are. The Gates in people aren't the reflections. The one you broke down is. It's a reflection of your Gate."  
"You aren't transmuting the universe," Noah finished, "You're transmuting yourself."  
"You are lying," Chambers accused slowly.  
"We cannot."  
"We speak only the Truth."  
"The Truth that still exists."  
"The Truth that you have not broken."

It no longer mattered which of them was speaking. Their voice was the same.  
"You have opened the way for forces you can't control."  
"But you haven't harmed the Truth."  
"It's greater than you."  
"Greater than anything."  
"You are part of it."  
"It is part of you."  
"You have only changed yourself."  
"You know we cannot lie."  
"This is the Truth."

They kept walking. Chambers stood beneath his halo, as still as stone. His mouth thinned, his lips pressed tightly together. His nostrils flared a little. His spectacles glinted.

And then he frowned.

It was not a deep frown. It was a curious, quizzical frown, the frown of someone spotting something in their work that does not make sense. Somewhere, the equations seemed to have gone astray, to have done something counter-intuitive. As doubts go, it was vague and ill-formed and, above all, brief. The equations did add up. They did make sense.

And yet...

It was enough.

* * *

The universe tilted on its axis. The Gate opened. Not the edifice, the image drawn from a species' collective imagination and superimposed over the top, but the heart of the matter, the bridge between worlds that lay beneath. Gold and white broke loose, thoughts and ideas thundering free. Al and Noah and Gatekeepers were swallowed by it, flung into an ocean with no end and no beginning.

They/He/She swam through the waves with ease. It was what she/they/he had been born to do. Down and down he/they/she went, back into the past – or what was called the past or what had once been the past – back until they/she/he reached the place where the waves began to wash in different directions.

It did not look like much, seen from that angle. A man sitting before a fire, scratching lines onto parchment. There came a moment though, when he began to murmur softly and brush powder onto his work. He traced the edges of his drawings. He focused. He prayed. He desired.

He split into two frozen copies of himself, drifting away from the origin. A spark hovered between them. Nothing grand, nothing brilliant. Just a spark. Pain and struggle and power had all converged on that spark, had all strained to push it away from one of those copies and towards the other. The effort to shift it even half that distance had been immense.

To them/her/him, it was nothing to push it back to where it was meant to be.

One of the arrays glowed for a few seconds and the dust changed colour. One of the arrays did nothing.

That is perhaps how it was. And then again, perhaps it was not. But that was what he/she saw. What the Gatekeepers had seen, she/he would never know.

* * *

The ring of golden light vanished.

Chambers gasped. His face lost what colour it had had. He buckled at the knees and collapsed, putting out his hands just in time. A figure was left standing in the space he had left, a figure with obsidian skin wearing a long white cloak.

Kindness laid her fingers on his head. Something curled out from him, like smoke rising from his eyes. A wisp that might have been a man. Another followed, that could have been a boy with no arm and no leg. More came. Men, women, sometimes children. Envy leered as he evaporated. Falconer faded. The Marquis vanished. Hohenheim of Light seemed to pause and smile. The ruin of Huskisson silently screamed its way out of existence.

When they were all gone, the man who was left on the floor was not the man who had tried to rebuild the cosmos. He was trembling uncontrollably, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the floor. His eyes were wide and unfocused and his face...

Raw, primal, uncomprehending horror was written in every line.

Kindness knelt beside him and rested her head against the side of his.  
"Goodbye, Benedict," she whispered.  
The shadow of a thin arm felt its way up Chambers' back. Then a second crept over his leg. And a third wrapped itself around his throat. More and more came, the Hunger grasping and clawing at him. Kindness stood, standing back.

And what was left of Benedict Chambers disappeared into the blackness without a word.

* * *

In Rush Valley, people began to emerge into the sun, unsure of whether the sky was going to fall on them or not. Winry and Paninya joined them, the latter clutching a shattered auto-mail hand.  
"Is it over?" she wondered, half-afraid of the answer.

Winry had none for her.  
"I don't know..."

* * *

Havoc watched as the black cloud beneath them doubled over and over on itself until it had vanished completely. He and Dakota turned away from the crevice, looked at one another and as one man sank to the blessedly still ground.

The major fumbled for his cigarettes.  
"Ok. Why the hell was it a bad idea to move the capital again?"

* * *

"Mom! The sky's not shaking any more!"  
Tawny leant back in Rose's arms, staring upwards in awe. Around them, the people of Lior were murmuring and pointing. Someone began to sing. Soon half the city seemed to have joined it.

All Rose could do was hold onto her son and hug him as tight as she could.

* * *

Pinako Rockbell ran a critical eye over the damage to her house. Several fields over, a group of farmhands was whooping and hollering, dancing over the crops they had so carefully planted. Den limped up to the old lady's side and flopped down, exhausted.

She snorted and began picking up broken pots.

* * *

_A/N: Jeepers creepers, that was complicated. Even more because....well, stay tuned for that!_

_Thanks are owed once more to Dailenna for looking this over. I've amended the last chapter a bit at her suggestion, though I admit I haven't actually got rid of the bit she really had a problem with. There are several reasons for that, not least because I know exactly how the trick is done and it's all alchemy! Anyone guess how...? One of the amendments might give you a clue...but that's neither here nor there, really! Stand by folks - the final chapter is coming!  
_


	39. Chapter 34: Worlds Apart

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just getting to the end._

**Chapter 34: Worlds Apart**

Ed stared at his brother and tried to think of something to say. Nothing was coming. Al was still surrounded by light. So was Noah. They and Kindness were now the only things illuminating the chamber. He finally found his tongue glued to the bottom of his mouth.  
"What the frickin' hell just happened?"  
Under the circumstances, he was rather proud of how calm and controlled he was being.

Al grinned a grin that wouldn't have looked out of place on an insanely happy five-year old.  
"We stopped him!"  
"Yeah...yeah, I can see that. _How_?!"  
"We made him doubt." Noah came up beside Al, looking exhausted but just as happy. "That was all we had to do."  
"What..." Ed frowned and pointed at Kindness. "You said I had to kill Chambers' truth."  
"I did," she acknowledged, "That is what you witnessed."  
"His truth...died?"  
"Yes."  
"It's like when Envy pretended to be Winry," Al explained, "I knew it wasn't her but for a second, I wasn't sure what to think. That's what we did to him. We confused him. He couldn't be sure if he had got things right, just for a moment. And then the Gatekeepers could break into his reaction and reverse it. At least...that's sort of what they did. It's difficult to explain."

Ed nodded.  
"I guess it is...um...about them...you're...urr..."  
Al and Noah exchanged glances.  
"They're..." Al began.  
"They needed us," Noah said, "To carry them for a while."  
"We had to be the ones who spoke to him," the boy continued, "It's... What we told him was _mostly_ true...and he thought we were being possessed by the Gatekeepers, so he knew, or thought he knew, that we couldn't be lying and..."  
"What do you mean 'mostly true'?" Ed demanded.  
"Err...well...he had really done what he thought he'd done. Mostly. He'd really made alchemy work here! And...that was what we were using. I was, anyway. The Gatekeepers...I think they made my soul match this side and then....then I just used alchemy to block his. It was easy, really. They told me what to do and I...did it."  
"So what you said, about him not having killed the Truth...?"  
"The Gatekeepers have a...a copy of the Truth. That's what they are, between them. That's how they can do so much. That meant they preserved it outside of the Gate and weren't affected when...everything."  
"You mean you were..."

"Lying." Al shrugged in embarrassment. "Yeah. We had to. It's the one thing he knew for certain that the Gatekeepers couldn't do. So that's what they had to do. Or...get us to do it for them while it looked like they were controlling us. I'm not sure what they were really doing. It was like they'd transmuted themselves into light...and sound that only we could hear...but the important thing is that it looked like we were being possessed, so he'd think that."  
Ed was speechless again. He mouthed for a while.  
"Al...you've never told a convincing lie in your life! How the hell did you –"  
He stopped.

Edward was sitting by Cain with Helen's head resting in his lap. He was gently stroking her hair, talking to her in cracked half-sentences. The Templar was awkwardly patting him on the shoulder and looking thoroughly miserable. Abruptly grim, Ed hauled himself towards them, Al trailing after him.  
"Come back," he heard as he got closer, "Please...wake up...come...back..."  
The homunculus man looked round, directly into the eyes of his doppelgänger. Tears were leaving damp trails down his cheeks.  
"Please...help her..." he beseeched plaintively, "I don't know what to do..."  
Something in Ed's chest tightened.  
"Al...?" he asked hollowly.

"There's nothing I can do," his brother murmured, "She's...ah!"  
The light around him lifted away. Noah gasped as well, the same thing happening to her. Moving like fog, it ran together and coalesced beside Kindness. The next instant, all seven Gatekeepers stood together. Edward gaped, then called to them.  
"Help her...please?"  
"We cannot," Kindness answered sadly, "There is nothing left to help."  
A sob caught in his throat. He began to cry properly, quiet and inconsolable. The others shifted, unsure what to do. Ed struggled nearer, pushing himself into as well balanced a position as he could manage. He put his hand on Edward's arm. Like a child, the boy reached across to grip onto Ed's fingers.  
"We must leave," Diligence said, "We cannot remain here. The Gate will be healed only when all are where they should be."  
"What about the General?" Ed's voice was gruff. "And Hawkeye. We can't leave them behind."

"Right here, Fullmetal."  
Like dusty jack-in-the-boxes, Mustang and Ivan appeared from the tunnel Al and Noah had used. Hawkeye followed, supporting a pale, shaken Falconer. They all looked extremely worse for wear. The General was limping a little and his clothes were blotched with blood. He approached carefully, nodding to the younger Elric.  
"I see you two have stopped glowing." Then he frowned down at Ed. "And what happened to you?"  
"What does it look like? How did you get here?"  
"Alphonse and Noah saved our lives," Hawkeye told him, "We were under attack by a group of...shadow creatures and they drove them off.  
Al nodded vigorously.  
"The Gatekeepers said we couldn't let anyone from our side of the Gate die here."  
"We were told to keep well back until things had...stopped," Ivan grated in German, hostile gaze flicking around the room, "Since they now have, here we are."  
"Huh. Chambers said something about souls from our world messing things up if they went through the Gate." Ed glanced at Edward, then back at Kindness and company. "Ok, so we're all in one place again, thanks to you being so clever. What happens now?"

"We will transfer the array and all its contents ," the tallest Gatekeeper boomed, "thus ensuring that only negligible traces of matter from the other world remain in this."  
"Transfer?" The Fullmetal Alchemist directed his most suspicious expression at the speaker. "As in through the Gate?"  
"We will protect you," another of the hooded beings assured him.  
"You will arrive safely," a third expanded.  
Mustang raised an eyebrow.  
"If everything within the array is going to be moved, we should probably let the people who live here get clear."

Falconer pulled away from Hawkeye, forcing herself to stand without help.  
"I'm not sure I will ever understand what is happening here but I take it that means we should remove ourselves to a safe distance?"  
"Yeah. You, Ivan, Cain and No –" Ed brought himself up short.  
Al had taken Noah's hand. He addressed the Gatekeepers.  
"Could she come with us? Without, uh, anything going wrong?"  
The Roma girl coloured, full of a mixture of hope and mortification. Ed scowled at the pair, unsure of what to make of what he was seeing. He looked away to see Kindness inclining her head.  
"If that is what she wishes. There is no danger. However," she added, meeting Noah's eyes, "you will not pass through the Gate unchanged. Nothing can."

Noah bit her lip. Al squeezed her hand anxiously. Emotions tumbled about inside her, fear of the unknown and the old desire to stand under the skies she saw in other people's dreams mingling freely.  
"You shouldn't come if there's any danger," growled Ed.  
That of all things made up her mind. One simple reason crystallised out of all the rest.  
"I still want to go," she said firmly, "Even more now. How can I stay here after this?"  
Unable to help himself, Al broke into another grin.

It quickly faded. Cain had stood up, lifting Helen's body. Edward jumped to follow, nearly flooring Ed as he did so. The mercenary bowed his head to those around him.  
"Sirs...ladies..." His voice trembled. "I...also don't understand this. But I would like...very much..._not_ to leave this world. M-miss Falconer...I can't... It would be the least I could do to lead you out of this place. And...to do whatever is necessary to see that this poor lady is given a fitting burial."  
He waited for a response, as still as a man in fear of his life can be.

Ed grunted.  
"Can you help me up, Edward?"  
Startled by being called by name, the homunculus man jumped, rubbing at his reddened eyes.  
"Y-yes..."  
He lifted Ed and let him put his arm round his shoulders.  
"You do that," the alchemist said to Cain, "You're right. It is the least you can do."  
Cain flinched but said nothing back. Ed relented slightly.  
"Thanks for helping. You did the right thing." He switched languages, ignoring the relief that the other man was very obviously feeling, "You want to come see my home, Ivan?"

The big Roma snorted.  
"You and your brother have made my life very interesting, Edward. As much as I like you, I am becoming tired of chasing around the countryside being shot at. I will leave you to your world and stay in mine." He raised a warning finger. "But I will come after you if you do not take good care of Noah. I will not see all my hard work undone because you two are too obsessed with each other to notice anyone else."  
He strode over to Noah and bent to kiss her forehead. She smiled and the edges of his mouth turned slightly upwards.  
"Watch them. You might be able to stop them walking off a cliff while they gawk at the sky."  
"I will," she promised.

Falconer cleared her throat and held out her hand to Hawkeye.  
"Thank you. For...well...saving my life."  
They shook.  
"What will you do now?" the major inquired.  
"Go back to England, I suppose. I _am_ still a member of His Majesty's intelligence services. I shall...give my report. It may get me thrown in an asylum but I have my duty." She almost laughed. "I suddenly feel very unafraid of the future. To have survived what happened here...I don't think anything else will ever be so frightening."  
"Good," Hawkeye said, "Good luck."  
"Thank you." Falconer paused then turned to Mustang. "And...thank you."  
"You're welcome," he replied, "Thank _you_ for saving _my_ life."  
He saluted.

Ivan and Cain walked to the door. Falconer hurried to join them. And so did Edward.  
"Hey, stop!" Ed bellowed as he was dragged along, "Where are you going?"  
Edward stopped and frowned, perplexed.  
"Home," he said, "To take Helen home."

A dead, awkward silence fell. Ed broke it.  
"You can't. You've got to come with us."  
"What...? Why?"  
"B – Because you do. You can't stay here, not in this world. You're...you're a...you just can't. I'm sorry. You can't."  
Uncomprehending, Edward blinked rapidly.  
"But...I belong here. Don't I? In...in London...home...with Helen..."  
"I'm...sorry," Ed repeated helplessly, "What you've...become...it's..."

The Gatekeepers began to fan out, forming a circle around the people left inside the room. Those surrounded drew closer to one another, Mustang to Hawkeye, Al to Noah. The others hovered on the threshold, staring at Edward.  
"I've...got to come with you?" he repeated haltingly.  
"Yes," Ed told him, "We can't let anyone who can do alchemy stay here. It's too dangerous."  
"He is correct," the tall Gatekeeper confirmed, "There would be too great a risk of all this happening again. We cannot allow that."

White light spread from the gaunt beings, rushing around the chamber.  
"Go!" Al yelled to Ivan, Falconer and Cain, "Get above ground! Out of the array!"  
"Find Anna!" Ed shouted, "She's a nurse – she should have got outside the compound!"  
"Jah!" Ivan boomed over his shoulder.  
"Good luck!" Falconer called.  
Cain was already running.

The light closed over the doorway. Golden flares burst, breaking into ribbons and streamers. Size and distance warped, the Gatekeepers doubling, trebling in height, the space between them and the humans contracting until they had formed a living wall against the tumult.  
"They don't waste time, do they?" Mustang commented dryly.  
Edward had gone rigid, rooted to the spot with Ed still hanging onto him. A faint wail escaped his lips.  
"Hey." Ed tapped fingertips against Edward's collarbone. "It's gonna be ok."  
The homunculus man shuddered.  
"No...no...it's not..."

The Gate opened.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anna Simons leant against a tree and fought for breath. It had been twenty minutes since she had been able to get clear of the institute's boundary and twenty years since she had been in any fit shape to run as fast as she had. Now some little way above the broken fence, she had a perfect view of the buildings. Or rather, of what was left of them. Only the ones near the middle were still reasonably intact. Most of the ones at the edge had been completely flattened.

The storm was gone. It had not blown over, not moved on to wreak fresh havoc elsewhere, no, it had simply disappeared, as though God had flicked a cosmic switch and turned it off. Perhaps that was exactly what had happened. Perhaps He had seen what Mr Chambers had been up to and had decided enough was enough. Anna rather liked the image of the hand of the Almighty descending to squash the icy little man. He fully deserved it, she thought, for unleashing such catastrophe upon them. Which might not have been very Christian of her but then again, she was convinced even a saint would have felt wrathful towards someone so steeped in devilry as he obviously was.

From her vantage point, she could see one or two people who had also managed to blunder their way out of the cloying, soaking darkness conjured up by the storm. The ones who had been brave enough to stay, anyway. She had made no attempt to approach them, since they were all quite clearly as criminal as their master. They lingered at various safe distances, presumably wavering between the urge to run a mile and to return to see what had become of their fellows. Given the screaming that had haunted the rain, that was unlikely to have been anything good.

One of the figures suddenly started pointing and shouting to another, jumping up and down while waving at the buildings. Anna squinted, trying to make out what he was so excited about. Eventually, she spotted a group of three, all of them running hell for leather towards the open countryside. As they came closer, she saw that one of them, clothed in the black uniform of the Marquis' men, was carrying something. Closer still and she was able to discern that his burden wore a plain dress, not unlike the one she herself was wearing.

Her heart sank. Damn that boy. She had expressly told him to keep them all safe. She should have known that he would not manage it.

Further recriminations were interrupted by the screech of tortured masonry. Some of the remaining buildings bent sharply, listing this way or that. Then they began to collapse, sinking into the ground for all the world as if their foundations had just been pulled from beneath them. Bricks and tiles came cascading down in every direction, this crescendo of destruction echoing across the countryside. The running people cleared the edge of the forsaken place just as its final remains were shaken apart.

Anna Simons lowered herself to the grass and began to recite the Lord's Prayer.

* * *

Ed did not know how he knew they had passed into the Gate, but he did.

It was certainly not because he could see it. The Gatekeepers hid everything beyond themselves, forming a sort of capsule. Their cloaks had billowed out, creating a seamless barrier around the tiny humans in their midst. Those humans were, if Ed's personal experience was anything to go by, suffering from an attack of vertigo as they were swept along, standing on nothing. He tried focusing on Edward's shoulder but his attention inevitably drifted past that and onto what the beings previously hidden by their clothes really looked like.

The cyan tattoos drew his eye first, standing out as they did so sharply against the jet black skin. The jet black, _broken_ skin...

All at once, things that had been at the back of his mind for days clicked into place.

When Mustang had said he and Hawkeye had been put into a trance and then shunted between worlds, it had occurred to Ed that that could mean that unconscious matter could traverse the Gate without a problem. What Chambers had said about the Hunger had shot that theory down and given him another one: the Hunger would let things go if they got something in exchange. Equivalency. It made him feel like laughing, that frickin' law turning out to be true in such a twisted way. But if nothing else, it explained what he was seeing now.

Chunks of the Gatekeeper's bodies were missing, torn out by a million tiny teeth. What was left was going the same way, from the outside in. Their skin was growing ever more translucent, fading to grey, light showing through. Light and shadows. Lots of shadows, all with clawing hands.

They were sacrificing themselves to protect their cargo. But by the look of it, there was not enough left of them to keep that cargo safe.

How much longer before they reached the other side, Ed wondered. How much longer before the Hunger broke through and decided that it would take everything it found?

Edward shuddered again.  
"No!" he cried, "No! NO!"  
He tried to shake Ed off, to go, to run, to escape back the way they had come in a panic-stricken rush for home. Ed hung on fiercely. Even if he only had one arm, he was in much better shape than Edward and weighed considerably more. Emaciated by years of inactivity, Edward simply lacked the strength to get away. Al was shouting, Noah too.  
"Fullmetal!" Mustang yelled.  
The urgency of it was enough to distract Ed. They were reaching out to him, trying to pull him to them. He looked up and saw why.

The Gatekeepers were almost gone, the last shreds of their forms dissolving before the Hunger's onslaught. It occurred to Ed that those grasping black things were probably very angry at being dragged back into limbo.

Pain shot up his arm, making his grip falter. Edward had _bitten_ him.

The next second, the homunculus man was free, fleeing blindly. He whacked Ed across the face as he went, sending him tumbling end over end.

Someone was still shouting his name. He couldn't see who. Rushing, meaningless sound filled his ears, blocking them out. He was falling.

He was falling and everything below him was white.

* * *

_A/N: Once more, thanks go to Dailenna for spotting the mistakes! I plead the spell-checker mysteriously switching off halfway through!_

_Anyhow, that's very nearly the lot. Just the epilogue to go now and then this story will be all over..._

_...._

For now...


	40. Epilogue: History’s Beginning

_Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. I'm just tidying up._

_A/N: And so it ends... Imagine, if you will, that the music is beginning to swell up in the background and the colours are softening. Also, don't forget: you should always watch the credits through 'til the end. Just in case..._

**Epilogue: History's Beginning**

"So this is the site of the infamous 'Falconer Report', is it?"  
The nondescript man in the brown suit looked at the field, unimpressed. He picked at his front teeth.  
"It's a field."  
"You noticed that?" his no-less mediocre companion asked sarcastically, "My, you are observant today."

Lieutenant Commander S. Dance, officer in the British Navy, currently attached to MI6, scowled and flung an encompassing arm out at the scene of pastoral peace before them.  
"I mean, it's a field with nothing in it. Not precisely Dante's inferno."  
Casting an inexpert but very sharp eye over the landscape, Wing Commander D Morris could only agree. He chuckled.  
"It _is_ rather like trying to believe Constable was actually painting Satanic rites, I suppose."  
"Only slightly more absurd! The woman was quite obviously deranged."

"Oh, come now," his partner admonished, "It has been thirty years. More than enough time for the grass to grow. And it's not as if we don't have confirmation of some of what she reported."  
Dance snorted.  
"That there really was a Benedict Chambers and he really did disappear around that time? That the 'Templars' disbanded soon after? That the weather was exceptionally bad that summer? How conclusive. Obviously there were magic rituals being conducted under this very spot."  
"_Alchemic_ rituals," Morris corrected pedantically, "I think you will find that she specified –"  
"Alchemic, magic, does it really make any difference whatsoever? It's all the same supernatural hogwash. And I still feel _reasonably_ confident that we can report that after thrity years there is still no sign of anything that might indicate that the world nearly ended here."

"Why would there be?" a voice asked from behind the two men, "We buried it. It was the least we could do."  
Startled, they turned, Dance's hand going to his gun. An old man, wizened and stooped, was peering over the fence, his gnarled hands resting on a walking stick. He scrutinised them thoughtfully.  
"I'm sorry," he croaked after a while, "If I startled you. I thought you would have heard me coming."  
Dance released his weapon.  
"We didn't."  
"English, eh?" There was a note of amusement in the statement. "Yes, well, she was, wasn't she?"  
"Who was?" Morris politely inquired, stepping forward.  
"Eh? Heh. 'Lizabeth. She was beautiful, too. Even after _he'd_ hurt her so badly. Even after what happened..."

He trailed off, staring at the field. The wind ruffled his wispy hair. Dance frowned.  
"What do you mean? After what happened?"  
The old man wheezed, laughing at a joke only he had heard.  
"What happened? She told you all about it, didn't she? In her report? That's why you're here. Checking up. Took you long enough. Suppose you thought she was mad, no? Heh. Maybe she was. Maybe we all were. Would've made sense. After what happened..." He rounded on them suddenly, gripped by the fever of his memories. "What happened here? Something to cure anyone of wanting to harm a fly for the rest of his life, that's what. Hell happened here, gentlemen. Demons came. The heavens caved open. Saints fought...sinners died...and when the dust had settled, it was as if it had never been. 'Cept for what we had to bury. That's what. Not that you'll believe it. You think she was talking about magic and so it's nonsense. Maybe it was. Magic, I mean. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was just science that could do anything. Could have been either. I wouldn't know the difference. Would you? But you weren't there, were you? You didn't see it all. So you'll never believe it."

Huffing, he took a firmer grip on his stick and started to walk off, setting a surprisingly brisk pace. Dance and Moris exchanged looks.  
"Excuse me, sir?" Moris called after him.  
The man ground to a halt and glanced back.  
"What's your name?" Dance asked.  
Again, this seemed to be a source of great amusement to the old codger.

When the laughter had petered out, an odd seriousness came over him.  
"My name?" he asked back, "Now that's a thing. I haven't had a real name for longer than I can remember. Maybe I never had one at all. Maybe. Don't suppose it matters. Tell 'em you met Cain. Tell 'em they should've believed her. But that maybe it's better that they didn't. Good day, gentlemen."

And with that, he hobbled away, leaving the men from the British Government standing in an empty field.

* * *

_**Credits**_

_**(A round of applause for each of these, if you please!)**_

_Fullmetal Alchemist – The brilliant Hiromu Arakawa_

_This Story – That would be me (Don't bother with the applause here)_

_Canonical Characters – Also Hiromu Arakawa_

_Original Characters – Um, me again..._

_Proof Reading – The wonderful Dailenna & the lovely thewiseferret_

_Word Processing – The dreaded Microsoft Word and the surprisingly well-behaved OpenOffice_

_Visuals – The many people who live at the back of my head and Won't Shut Up_

_Music – Mainly Youtube_

_Biscuits – Almost exclusively McVitie's_

_With Special Thanks To – Everyone who's struggled through this rambling monster of a story_

_(An extra loud round of applause for all of you!)_

_Now, you're probably wondering why the heck a bit of fan fiction requires credits beyond the usual disclaimer that the original concept is absolutely not anything to do with the person writing it._

_Well, the reason is very simple._

_No, really, it is._

_Want to know?_

_Ah, now, well, you see..._

_If you don't have credits, how can you have a post-credits sequence?_

* * *

**Preview: Snow Fall**

The forest creaked and groaned, frozen branches clattering against each other. The snow underfoot was the crunchy kind, all fluffy looking until you actually stepped in and found that it really was the ice equivalent of popcorn. A bird cawed somewhere overhead, presumably expressing its disgust at the unannounced winter.

It paid no attention to the two figures struggling uphill below the canopy.  
"Slow down!"  
The leader looked back, annoyed.  
"You're the one who said we shouldn't be out here too long!" he retorted.  
"But I didn't mean you had to go so fast you'd hurt yourself!" The other youth pulled his hat down so that it was a little tighter around his ears. "You're still weak!"  
"I can walk, can't I? And you can't check the crop all by yourself, you know that."  
"I could have done! And if you don't take things slower, I'm going to have to!"  
"For God's sake, I'm not an invalid!"  
"Russseeellll!"

Fletcher Tringham finally overtook his older brother and planted himself firmly in his way.  
"If you hurt yourself, how am I going to get you home on my own? In this?" He waved at the snow. "I let you come out with me. Let me look after you, huh?"  
Russell exhaled, blowing out a burst of steam. With a gloved hand, he brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes and pouted. At length, he relented.  
"Alright, alright. I'll slow down. You don't have to keep being such a mother hen though."  
"If I didn't, you'd probably have poisoned yourself by now. Or alchemised you hand off. Or broken you neck. Or –"  
"Yeah, yeah." Russell pushed past him. "Are we going up to the fields or not?"  
Grinning, Fletcher kept up at his side. Together, they trudged on through the cold.

"It's not as if the crop isn't going to be ruined anyway," Russell grumbled.  
"Some of them might be ok," Fletcher reasoned, "The ones that had some shelter."  
"Last time I checked, most plants weren't good at surviving freak sub-zero temperatures."  
"It only came down a few days ago..."  
"Isn't there a cure for optimism yet?"  
"Just because you're getting grumpy in your old age."  
"If you didn't waste so much time talking, you'd keep up easier. That and – what was that?"  
They stopped. Fletcher looked round.  
"What was what?"  
"I thought I heard something..."  
"That bird?"  
"No..." Russell was frowning. "Something else."  
"Like what? I didn't hear anything."  
"I don't know! And with those stupid flaps over your ears, that's not really surprising."  
"Hey!" Fletcher clutched his hat protectively. "I like them. They keep my ears _warm_." He took it off and cocked his head to the side. "I still don't hear anything."  
"It's stopped now."  
"What was it?"

"I told you, I don't know!" Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Russell glared at the trees. "Like...a thump, maybe. Like something hitting the ground."  
"Maybe you've started hearing things?"  
"I didn't imagine it!" He surveyed the forest one more time then shook his head. "Or maybe I did. I don't know. Come on. We'll never get to the field at this rate."  
Fletcher eyed him anxiously.  
"If you're sure..."  
"Of course I am! Come...on..."  
"Russell? Brother?"

Ignoring his brother's urgent grip on his arm, Russell pointed.  
"Can you see that?"  
Following the finger, Fletcher found himself looking down a slope that led off the one ridge they were climbing. The trees thinned out there, giving way to a long clearing that ended in more woods.  
"See what?"  
"There, down there. Something lying in the snow."  
"Where? I – oh!"  
There _was_ something down there, roughly two thirds of the way along, a dark shape against the white background.  
"What is it?" he wondered  
"Only one way to find out!" Russell whooped and set off downhill at a flat out run.  
"Hey!" Fletcher cried, "Come back!"

It was halfway down that Russell began to regret trying to prove that he wasn't crippled for life. His chest felt stupidly constricted and he was huffing and puffing like an old man. He knew it was going to turn out to be a log and he could already hear Fletcher lecturing him on taking it easy. Damned alchemy plague. Why did he have to get it? Why did the weather have to start thinking it was mid-winter when it wasn't even autumn yet? Why were they stuck up in the mountains, looking after a project that had been ruined?

By the time he reached the clearing, he had successfully worked out answers to precisely none of these questions.

Fletcher caught up as his brother staggered the last few feet towards the thing in the snow.  
"You idiot," he admonished tiredly, "What did you do that for?"  
Russell did not reply. He was too busy staring at the thing. Fletcher looked at it. And then he was staring as well.

The man lay on his back, a mane of golden hair spread out around his head. His eyes were shut, his chest hardly moving. He was wearing ripped trousers and a sleeveless maroon vest. Dirt covered his skin and face, which was also covered with a few days worth of stubble. Fresh bruises stood out over his forehead and cheeks. He only had one arm. All that was attached to his right shoulder was a few chunks of blackened metal. His left leg ended at the knee, with the same kind of ruined machinery.

"Am I seeing this?" Russell murmured.  
He passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing at them furiously. The apparition did not vanish. He took a step back, as if afraid it was going to jump up and bite him.  
"I can't be seeing this."  
"You are," Fletcher whispered, having blinked and rubbed his own eyes, "Brother...I think...it's Ed."

* * *

**Fullmetal Alchemist: The Long Walk Home**

**Coming Soon...**


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